


The Living City

by orphan_account



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: 1892, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, CHRISTINE IS ACE, Fluff, Good N Gay, Homophobia, Inspired by but not related to The Picture of Dorian Gray, Internalized Homophobia, Jeremy Is Suave, Kinda, Kissing, LATER, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, They go to see a musical lmao, True Love, also they're like so gay, boyf riends - Freeform, so much pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-10-28 20:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Michael has always wanted to write for a New York City paper, now he finally has the chance. In 19th century America, he begins his journey through life as a twenty year old, not so fresh out of college and ready to leave his life in rural Georgia behind.Edit: This fic is on permanent hiatus, I am really really sorry. You can message me on my tumblr @hesitantpluto if you want to know all the planned plot points and how it would have ended. Honestly, I do love this story but I just don't have the motivation to finish a work for a fandom I'm no longer in. Sorry. xoxo, Evie.





	1. City of Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy chapter one! If you do, comments and kudos always inspire me to keep writing, ily guys <3
> 
> PS: I will only be replying to comments on chapters 1&2!!!

_Thursday, March 31, 1892_  
_It is a strange thing to be awake before the sun lights up the sky. To watch as the birds slowly start to stir and begin their song, and feel the night’s dew slowly dry beneath your feet. It is a strange thing to look out at the vast sky knowing that all that is out and awake are cows and sheep. I am always awake before dawn, and I am always asleep before nightfall, it is simply the way that I can continue to enjoy the waking hours of my days. I believe that man is alone in this universe. As an intellectual species, we are alone. Floating into space, floating through time, it is sad that some do not stop to look out at the skyline and think about our very existence, our very place in this world. That’s why I have to head to New York. I have thought for years, and now that I’ve finished college it is the only place for me. I will not rest until I get there, and to propose that I rest even once I have reached the blessed city would be simply ignorant. I shan't rest until my dream has come true. I will write for The New York World, and I will not allow any ungodly feelings disrupt me._  
_Until tomorrow,_  
_Michael Mell_

Michael straightened his back and looked down at the stream he was sitting beside. It was one of earth’s most simple and yet exquisite wonders, he thought. Water. To him it represented subtle destruction. The wearing away of stone into sand, or the softening of splintered branches into curving driftwood. He thought that perhaps if one were to submit themselves to the ocean, they would simply be carried to a place of magic. That was probably wishful thinking, though. He wished that that were true. Michael always sat here to write because the gentle rush of water over rocks washed out any other sound. It was like music, he supposed, in an odd way.

Michael ran his finger over the words he had written that day, they had fully dried, so he packed his fountain pen and journal into his leather satchel, standing up. He gazed down the small hill at the stream. He was glad to live here, he really was, but at the same time he couldn’t wait to get away.

New York. He would...He would make it someday. For now, he would deal with his job at the small local paper, but someday... Michael knew he could make it where he dreamed to be. He could work alongside the likes of Nellie Bly, whose articles he kept neatly folded in his desk drawer to read when he had free time. 

Michael swung his satchel over his shoulder and jogged to his bicycle, which was leaning on a tree slightly farther uphill from the place he had been standing standing by a small outcropping of rock. He mounted the bicycle and started off, pedaling as quickly as he could to relieve his early morning energy. He was ready to start the day. After all, today was a big day. He was sending in an article to The World, perhaps if he was lucky enough Joseph Heere himself might select it. In Michael’s wildest dreams, Mr. Heere would offer him a full time job in the city, but he knew that that was unlikely. Indeed, the article could have been better, but it had already already written and printed.

Michael stopped thinking about it for a moment, breathing in the rushing air as it swept his hair out of his face. He grinned as the cool and humid early Spring air filled his lungs, closing his eyes for a moment as his bicycle ran over bumps in the tallgrass field. The sun was barely risen, and the clouds above him were gray, but he could see his house in the distance and he began to pedal even faster, smile somehow widening as the bike ran over another bump.

When he finally made it to the long gravel driveway, he skidded to a slower pace, pedaling delicately as to not disturb the dogs. If the dogs began to bark, every animal on the property would begin to make noises of their own, creating a cacophony of mooing and cawing and howling, Michael would be in trouble with Father if _that_ happened again.

Michael rolled his bike up to the porch, leaning it up against the railing and hopping up the steps, carefully unlatching the wooden door and tiptoeing inside. There was a skittering of paws and a low growl. Michael grinned, “Nellie!” Nellie was a giant black lab, Michael’s dog. He had had her since she was just a baby. He scratched her head, kneeling down to nuzzle his nose into her fur. “Hey girl! Did you miss me?” The lab licked his ear, Michael giggled, squirming away. He glanced up at the wall, still petting the dog, it was only five o’clock in the morning. “Why are you awake, Nellie?” Michael whispered, looking into the dog’s eyes. She licked his nose. He giggled again. “Alright, c’mere.” He stood up, kicking off his boots and placing them neatly in the entryway before tiptoeing in his socks through the kitchen and into the hallway, careful not to step on the floorboards the creaked. He made his way to the end of the hall, to his room. Nellie was still following him.

Michael sat down at his desk chair, pulling his knees to his chest and leaning his head onto them. Nellie nosed his shin, he reached a hand out to pet her head. Michael smiled, he loved the dog very much, maybe more, he thought, than his parents. 

That was a purely evil thought, he knew, but it was probably true. Father and Mother had never been anything but cruel to him. He must thank them, though, because they had been all of his inspiration to begin writing in the first place.

Michael stood up, pacing along his wall. He had been saving up money for a few months now, it was enough for a train ticket to the city by now. One train ticket. It would be a one way trip until he was back on his feet, he knew that, but as he paced, letting the sun slowly rise outside his window, he knew he needed to take the chance, and soon.

There was a clattering in the kitchen. Mamma was awake. 

“ _Blazes._ ” Michael cursed under his breath, Nellie looked up at him, tilting her head. “No, not you. You’re a good girl.” Michael grinned at her and walked out of his bedroom, dropping the smile as soon as he was out of the dog’s view. He all but slammed his bedroom door, walking out into the entryway and pulling on his mud encrusted boots, it was time for chores. 

Father exited the bedroom looking like he had awoken from a thousand years slumber, rubbing his eyes and scratching his bald head. What little graying hair that he had stuck out all over the place, and as Mamma entered the kitchen, Michael focused on untying and retying his boots. Mamma was carrying a tall bucket of water, which was splashing over onto the kitchen floor as she stomped towards the door, carrying it into the front yard. Michael stood up, wiping his hands on his trousers and pushing his glasses farther up on his nose. He left the house through the backdoor, heading first to the barn. He was avoiding his mother, of course, because Elizabeth Mell was a force to be reckoned with, especially during chores. 

He opened the barn door, nose twitching at the dust and the strong smell of hay that floated throughout the musty room. Michael grabbed a pitchfork and began to work, shoveling hay and food into the trophs. He opened the barn doors, allowing the horses and cows out to graze, and moved on to feeding the chickens. Once they were taken care of, he was allowed to rest only for a moment before beginning breakfast. 

At the end of a long morning, Michael wished that he had the liberty to sleep, but he did not. He cooked, and then he washed the breakfast dishes, and then he went to work. 

Work, though, was his favorite part of the day. Perhaps because he felt properly rewarded once an article had been written. There was a certain satisfaction to finishing up a day at work that one could never get from tending to horses and cows. Michael worked all day, and he loved every hour of it. 

This week he was writing an article about something he didn’t particularly enjoy, which was the downfall in wheat crops over the last decade. He didn’t believe that anything could be so boring to write as wheat crops, though he pushed through it because as he wrote, he knew that he would be leaving soon. He had checked his bank balance and all he needed was one last paycheck and he would be free of this town with twenty dollars to spare and a train ticket to the only place that mattered: New York City.

Michael would not let his ambitions be forgotten, he refused to let this Southern hell drag him into cohorts with a personal devil, a demon who had kept him here for all of these years. Michael felt that if he did not escape soon, the devil might hold him here forever.

When the day was over at five o’clock, and the sun was going down outside the newsroom window, Michael lit a cigarette and exited the building.

He worked in town, two miles from home. He bicycled there every morning, and back every night, and even now the ride tired him. Luckily, dinner had been prepared when he got home and he sat politely at the dinner table as his father spoke about politics and his mother spoke about the neighbor’s little adventuress daughter, who had apparently picked up Syphilis while on a trip to New England.

Michael finished his dinner, quietly placing down his fork and knife as his mother spoke. _You do not speak unless spoken to._ That’s what his mother had said since he was a child, and even now he felt no way to disrespect his parents rules. 

“You may be excused.” His mother spoke quietly to him as she finished her potatoes. 

Michael simply nodded, taking his plate and utensils, washing them thoroughly and retreating to his bedroom to further think about his decision. Perhaps it was stupid. To leave home with barely enough for a year’s rent and no job prospects? He sat down at his desk as he had that morning. He heard a scratching at the door and a faint whine, it was Nellie. He let her in, lowering himself from the chair to the floor. Was he ready to leave her? Michael loved Nellie with all of his heart, but...He needed to do this. Could he bring her? Probably not. Besides, even if he could, how could he afford to feed and properly take care of a dog?

“Oh Nellie.” Michael said sadly, rubbing her belly and smiling down at her. “I’m going to….” He sniffed, the urge to cry was too strong. He couldn’t even say it. “You’re a good girl.” He said, voice cracking. Nellie whined, she looked sad. It was almost as if she knew what he was planning on doing. “I promise I’ll come back for you.” Michael assured her. “I could never leave you with them.” He gave her a sad smile, ruffling her fur and standing up. 

He undressed, and went to bed. As he was sinking off to sleep, he thought of New York, and suddenly he realized what all of the possibilities were. 

_I am going to New York._ Michael decided that night, half asleep mind very insistent. _And I’m going to get a job with Joseph Heere._

~~~

The next day, Michael purchased a train ticket. It was just a small slip of paper, but as he held it in his hands at his desk that night, he felt as though it was a weight off of his chest. The train left the next day. He felt ecstatic and slightly giddy as he wrote a journal entry that night.

_Friday, April 1, 1892_  
_My dearest diary, I am on my way out. I have bought a train ticket and all I have ever dreamt of is on it’s way to coming true. ‘Twas a hard decision to make, leaving Nellie behind, but I must. ‘Tis the moral dilemma that every man must face, to be selfish or selfless, at one point in his life. This decision, I believe, is a completely selfish one. I am sure that no one else will be benefited by it, and I feel terribly for that, but I must do what is right for my own intentions. I am eighteen years old and I have not done one thing for myself all of my life. What, perhaps, would any notorious person think of me? Unworthy, I believe, of the respect that a man must be able to command just by the swagger of his gait or his manner of speech. I must stand up for myself. I was never meant to live a small town life, and I am doing myself no good by making myself unhappy by staying here. I have made up my mind, and my decision is final. I will be leaving tomorrow._  
_Until next time,_  
_Michael Mell._

Michael left the journal open on his desk and got to work packing.

Nellie was curled up on the floor, and every time he spotted her he felt a pang of guilt. He would be leaving the only living thing that had truly loved him all of his life. 

He busied himself with clothes. He only had one nice suit, worn for church, he would have to buy a nicer one in the city. He packed it in his green travel case. He would be carrying two bags: his travel case and his suitcase. The travel case would contain his clothes and personal items, the suitcase would be for sentimental items.

Michael glanced at the wall above his desk where hung a photo of his grandmother. He debated about taking it and decided against it. Eventually he found that he only needed the travel case. After all, the only sentimental items he really had were his journal, his copies of Bly’s articles, and a copy of Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. He needed naught room, and he was soon finished packing. Laid out for tomorrow was his second best outfit and his journal, which he would take to entertain himself on the train.

Finally, after a long day, he went to sleep. Anxiously awaiting the events of the next day.

As he slept, he dreamt of a luxurious life in New York. He knew he could get it, he just wasn’t sure how.

~~~

The noise of the train running over the tracks kept Micheal awake. He was sitting in a nice little compartment, giddy with excitement. He was finally on his way to _New York City._ He had been dreaming of this day for years, but as the countryside rushed past, Michael grinned, knowing that he was finally free.

He had left a note for his parents. Well, note probably wasn’t accurate. He had written a letter of five pages explaining to them his reasons for leaving. Michael knew that they would be furious despite, but he had let them know that once he had struck his fortune they would be made acquainted with one fifth of his annual funds so that they could better support themselves, and that if he did not come by in this promise they could take him to court. 

Michael did not think of Nellie as he jotted down notes in the journal on his lap, gazing out at the grassy fields and thinking up a million ways to describe the moo of a cow, or the caw of a rooster early in the morning. He hadn’t been to the stream that morning, and he felt a small pang of guilt. He had failed to spare even a departing glance at the place which had welcomed him so readily so many years ago. 

Michael sighed, resting his head against the train window and closing his eyes and slowly drifting off. In his head, a small tune from a show last Christmas sprang into song, and he fell asleep with his arms folded and his legs leaning against the wall of the train car.

~~~

Michael woke with a start, there was a tapping on his compartment, it was the ticket collector. Michael rubbed his eyes, taking his ticket out of his pocket and sliding the compartment door open.

“Good afternoon, Sir.” The ticket collector opened his palm and Michael placed the small slip of paper into his hand, waiting patiently as he examined it, huffed, handed it back to Michael, and mumbled a soft thank you under his breath before walking away. 

Michael chuckled, stuffing his ticket back into his pocket and sliding the door shut, sitting down again. He looked out of the window at the scenery that blurred past, it was still farmlands, but houses were closer together, and crops were smaller and more contained. 

He sighed, leaning his head against the leather backed seat. He wondered what his parent’s reactions to the letter had been. He hoped that they missed him. He would miss Mamma’s meals, perhaps, but that was all he would miss of her. She had not been a good mother, which he supposed was an oxymoron, but it was true.

Michael took out his journal, scribbling down a few ideas for possible articles with his fountain pen, which he had tucked into his jacket pocket, and then looked out the window, sighing with a smile, his adventure had only just begun.

~~~

There was a squeal as the train slowed to a stop, Michael could hear the roar of the city streets outside as he picked up his suitcase, walking steadily out into the corridor and following the slow moving stream of people out into the open air. He looked up and around him. He was surrounded by a milling stream of people, curving and running like a current. He followed the waves, and found his way to the street. He was in the middle of a glorious city.

Michael gazed around, absorbing all he could of the city’s air and breath and very _way_. Drinking in its very existence. Its people, its bustling streets. The clopping of horses could be heard over the creaking of wagon wheels, and the chattering of people walking up and down each side of the street filled him with excitement. He was finally here.

Michael knew that his first order of business would be to find a place of residence for the time being. He glanced around, eyes finally landing on a newspaper stand at the side of the road. He bought the day’s paper, flipping to the back and looking at the listings.

His eyes skimmed the page, nothing within his price range _or_ minimal accommodations. All he needed was a small apartment, preferably (but not necessarily) in a friendly neighborhood. Michael felt that there was no other living space that a man who might spend the rest of his years living in alone might need. A simplistic life, that was all that he wanted to live. A simple life. He might like a cat, he thought, if he became too isolated. But for now all he would need was his pen and his journal. He would need a typewriter, eventually, if he were to pursue a career in novel writing. 

Michael supposed that at present all he needed was a hotel to stay in for the next few days as he searched for a proper home (and a job.) Tomorrow he would visit The World’s newsroom to attempt to arrange meeting with its editor, Joseph Heere.

Michael found a place to sit down and sat, flipping through his newspaper. Lucky for him he had bought it, because there was a small add in the corner that he would never have known about if he hadn’t.

_The World Seeks New Writers! Do You Seek Adventure? Are You a Writer? Come for an Interview, Sunday!_

Below was _The World’s_ logo, two globes, and the words “We Need You!” 

Michael had never grinned bigger. He closed up the paper, folding it once more and tucking it under his arm as he stood up. Grabbing his luggage, he started briskly off. He decided to simply book a room in the cheapest hotel that he came across. The first one, which was the tallest building he had ever seen, was much to expensive for him. The second, however ( _Ellie’s_ ) was both reasonably priced, and gave off an aura of safety and simplicity to him. He booked a room at Ellie’s for the next week, sure that that was reasonable. He paid a whopping $3.50 (fifty cents per night) of his $15.12, and settled down in his room. He didn’t unpack any of his things except his nice suit, which he hung up in the closet. He sighed, content. Michael wasn’t hungry, so he resigned himself to the room for the night. There was a nice window beside the desk which looked out at the city, and he spent an hour sitting there, absorbing the city for all that it was. After all, this could all have been some elaborate dream.

Michael looked into the mirror in the bathroom, gazing into his own eyes, past his eyeglasses and light brown skin, looking into himself. He contemplated for a moment why he had finally done this. For the money, perhaps? No, definitely not. He had been making fine money before, and now, here, he was jobless and with only enough to barely survive a month. Perhaps he had done it for the chance of notoriety. Though, that made no sense. He had wanted this for forever. He couldn’t question it now. 

Michael shrugged, splashing the cold water onto his face. Back at the farm, they hadn’t had the blessing of running water, so he felt grateful even for that. Though the water was cold, it refreshed him, waking him up and keeping him sharp for the remaining hours of the day. The day’s travels had tired him, but he couldn’t allow them to dull his senses. Tomorrow was the day of the interview. Michael remembered the paper, which he had laid on the bed.

He tore off the add from the corner, smiling as he did so, and brought it into the bathroom, stuffing it into the pocket of his best suit, just to be sure he wouldn’t forget it. At the very bottom of the add, in very small letters, was the address.

That night, as Michael laid down to fall asleep, he contemplated his life up until this point. He believed it had been a full life, but from an outside perspective, how might it be percieved? 

Perhaps the farmwork, which Michael knew had sharpened him both physically and mentally, could be believed to be dull or non professional. Perhaps his small town status. Perhaps...Anything. His proper identity could be forgotten or ignored in the blink of an eye. He knew that. What was worse is if it was revealed.

Michael fell into a fitful sleep, and the next day he awoke freezing cold. He pulled the blankets over him, resting his head and looking up at the breadcrumb ceiling. He frowned. Today was the day.

~~~

Michael dug around in his pocket, shifting coins around until he found the small slip of paper with the address.

_1121, corner of F and 11th street._

Michael looked around at the streets. He was on 8th. After trying to figure out exactly which way to go for a little over five minutes, he gave in, asking a newspaper salesman which way to go.

“Three up and two to the left.” The man said immediately, pointing down the road with his fat cigar. “You wanna paper or no?”

Michael shook his head, nodding the man farewell. “Thank you, sir.” He smiled politely and continued on his way. Three up, two over. Three up, two over. Two up, two over. One up, two over. And soon enough, he was there, standing in front of _The World Newspaper Co._ Michael took a deep breath before deciding that there was no use not taking a chance, he was here, after everything, and this was what he wanted.

The ground floor was packed with printing presses and men shuffling around, rearranging the machines and cranking out tomorrow’s papers. Michael shivered, balling his fist up in his pocket as he walked up to the secretary.

“Excuse me, Miss. I don’t mean to interrupt, but I saw in one of your papers that you were looking for new writers?”

The woman behind the desk smiled sweetly, “Why yes, we are. Do you have any of your own writing with you? A portfolio, perhaps?”

Michael grinned, glad that he had compiled all of his articles from the local paper. “Why, yes...Actually.” He kneeled down, opening his case just slightly and sliding out the papers. He folded them together and handed them to her.

She smiled at him again, “And what might your name be, son?”

“Michael Mell.” He smiled.

“Well, Mr. Mell, I will pass your writings along to Mr Heere, but I won’t be able schedule a meeting in with him.”

She bit her lip, taking out a fountain pen and scribbling on a loose sheet of paper. “Perhaps, though… Yes. I’ll arrange you a meeting with his son. Mr Heere has passed on many duties to Jeremy these last few years, I wouldn’t be surprised if employment turned out to be one of them.” She smiled at him. “These will be on his desk by tonight.” She assured him. “If you’ll just be here at six o’clock tonight, I will have a dinner arranged for you and Mr. Heere.”

Michael nodded, “Thank you, ma’am.” And he bid her farewell, exiting the newsroom with a bounce to his step. 

_Joseph Heere_ would be reading his writing! Of all people… _And_ he would be having dinner with Mr Heere’s very own son!

Michael was sure that this could only lead to good things.

~~~

Michael stood beside the secretary’s desk, holding his pocket watch. It was five fifty nine, only a moment until the hour would strike, and Mr Heere ( _Jeremy, the secretary had informed him to call the businessman._ ) would arrive, almost definitely perfectly on time.

The bell above the newsroom door rang out as a man (shorter than Michael by only an inch or two) stepped through the door. He was young, and his fair skin glowed in the dim light of the room. He seemed to dance with every step, moving to the beat of every printing press. The clicks seemed to lead him through the room, and over to where Michael stood.

“Mr. Mell, I presume.” Jereme Heere smiled politely, offering a handshake

Michael nodded, accepting and placing his hand into that of the stranger’s. “Indeed. You must be Jeremy Heere.”

Mr Heere nodded, “Just Jeremy.” He took a step back.

This was a man who commanded respect with his very presence, a man who could stand in a crowd and yet still be visible even from the highest of hills. Michael knew from the moment that he had seen him that Jeremy Heere was not an ordinary man. He was elegant, graceful. He felt that in his deepest soul, they were destined to know each other. That the two of them might...Perhaps...Become friends.

What he knew was that Jeremy’s very presence, very _being_ was already intertwining with his own. His art, his _writing_ would be forever changed by the man standing in front of him. From that moment forward, Michael knew what the Greek’s had meant when they spoke of a muse. 

“I have...Read your writing.” The corner of Jeremy’s mouth quirked, “It’s very good.”

Michael grinned, “I appreciate the compliment.”

To finally have found someone whose personality complemented so well his own was a blessing in itself. To see the smile on Jeremy’s face, and hear the smoothness of his voice, Michael knew instantly that the universe had carried them together. Moving the pieces just so, in the hopes that they might meet. 

Michael need not contemplate his writing, or the universe, anymore. For he could tell at the very moment that their eyes met, standing in the small printing room under nothing but oil light, that Jeremy would become his muse, his art, and would consume his very being with the awe that he would inspire.

“Shall we, then? Dinner is my treat. I’ve already decided on hiring you.” Jeremy tucked a hand in his pocket, tilting his head at Michael.

Michael’s eyes widened. “Me- the job? Me?” He could...He could finally believe it. This, _this_ was what he wanted, and he would finally have a chance to have it.

Jeremy smiled, nodding. “Let us go, I’ll explain.”

As the exited the building, their arms brushed together. Michael was sure that this was all the start of something incredible for him, he just wasn’t sure what.


	2. Aunt Bridget's Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael meets Rich, a charismatic and opinionated restaurant owner, and Jeremy takes Michael to see a musical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading! I've been writing so much recently, and it's honestly so great. 
> 
> I was blessed with two _amazing_ pieces of fanart from zellymaybloom on tumblr ([here](http://zellymaybloom.tumblr.com/post/160457345361/read-my-frens-fanfic-miichael-mell-the) and [here](http://zellymaybloom.tumblr.com/post/160462688346/another-doodle-for-my-homie-miichael-mell-i))
> 
> Aaaa thank you again!

_Sunday, April 3, 1892_  
_To Hell with the idea that man is ugly, that our species might be nothing other than God’s mistakes. To Hell with all of it. I have seen the beauty of man myself. I have seen the actions of a man who might as well have descended from the heavens, a man whose mere beauty glowed like the light of a thousand candles, and whose personality is matched so perfectly and so well to my own that had I not met him I think that I might have lived my life incomplete. Half of a whole. In the mere day that I have known him he has shown himself to be a daytime moon, a flower in greenspace. This man, is Jeremy Heere._

_I met him yesterday, we went to dinner to discuss business. He offered me a job at The World and I simply could not refuse. We ate at Delmonico’s, and we talked for hours after our meals were finished. He told me of his hopes and his dreams, and I told him that I ought to be dreaming then, since all of mine were coming true. He smiled at that. His smile is lovely, for a man’s. I find that men tend to see themselves as harder,_ sharper _than women, and thereupon become rougher. Jeremy does not have that, no. He is soft, and I can see in his eyes that the world has not hardened him, has not ground him into the dirt, as it has for me. I am glad for that, I would not like for him to be shaped by the world, I would like for him to stay this way forever. Alas, there is no way._  
_Until next time,_  
_Michael Mell_

Michael spun around in the desk chair straightening his back after having slouched for so long writing. He was giddy. He began his job on Tuesday, and Jeremy had invited him to see a show on Broadway on Monday evening. A show called Aunt Bridget’s Baby.

Michael was excited. He walked to his hotel room window, staring out over the vast city and out to the bay. He could see the Brooklyn Bridge, and past that a shimmering blue horizon. He considered all that had happened in the few days he had been in this glorious city. So much...So much. It was almost too much.

 _No._ He reassured himself. _This is all you’ve ever dreamt of, and all that you want is at your fingertips. Grab it._

Michael sighed, the first thing to do was go in for his first day of work, but he had a whole two days before then. He might as well explore this wonderful city. The City of Dreams, the Living City, the City of Wonders. Of all of it’s names in popular literature, Michael did not think that any one word could encompass the complete awe that New York City could plant in someone’s soul. If you allowed that seed of amazement to grow, Michael knew that it would blossom into the creation of the greatest artists, and thereby the greatest art, that the world might ever know.

Michael pulled the desk chair over to the window, sitting down and watching as the sun slowly set with his journal and pen in hand. He didn’t write anything, though. Just sat and watched. He thought about Jeremy.

Jeremy was very insightful. He had spoken eloquently about every social issue that he could see, about the move for Women’s Suffrage and his avid support of it. Michael had smiled and agreed, Jeremy was so well _spoken_ something Michael could have never hoped for. Michael could express his deepest emotions on the page, sure, but that was with thought and careful planning, even if it was quick planning. Jeremy had the ability to express his deepest thoughts verbally at the snap of a finger. 

He posed interesting questions about art which Michael readily answered, and they had just...Talked. 

Michael thought that Jeremy was genuinely one of the kindest, smartest, and best people he had, did, and ever would know. 

Eventually, Michael walked to the Hotel’s small restaurant, purchasing a small sandwich and a bottle of cheap whiskey to bring back to his room. He drank only a glass that night, sitting again beside his window and flipping through his copy of _[Ten Days in a Madhouse](http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/bly/madhouse/madhouse.html)_ by Nellie Bly, again amazed at it. He had read it like a bible since the day of the book’s publication, and now...Now he realized that he was to be employed at the same paper as Mrs Bly. He realized this only now, after all that had happened. How could he not have realized?

Working in the same newsroom as the most iconic figure in New York expository journalism! She had traveled around the world only three years before, and now she was back. Michael reveled in the idea and took a sip of the semi warm whiskey. He grinned, wondering what his first assignment would be. He had no interests, really, perhaps he would start by writing in the fiction column. That might be nice, he thought, as he could ease his way into journalism. He had never been a true journalist, he admitted, as all he had ever reported on was cows and sheep and the stock market, but soon he would be. This is what he had gone to school for.

As Michael finished his glass of whiskey, he sighed, eyelids drooping. He looked out the darkened window at the glowing city. He imagined that he were roaming the streets. What might he do, he wondered. Perhaps go to an opera, or to a tavern. He might just wander, explore this city which he knew so much and yet so little about. For reading and experiencing are so different, Michael knew, and for all he had read about this beautiful city, nothing would ever compare to seeing it up close. Living within its depths, and becoming a part of its many gears. 

~~~

Michael awoke on Monday with a pain in his neck, he had fallen asleep in the deskchair, neck tilted to the side, and now there was a terrible pain in it. He cracked it, but it didn’t help, so he resigned himself to the discomfort and yawned, rubbing his eyes and looking out the window. He had been awoken by daybreak, though he couldn’t see the sunrise, and the city still looked sound asleep.

He stood up, walking to his suitcase and selecting a carefully pressed and folded shirt, deciding that it would have to be nice enough for the day’s endeavors. He kept on the trousers he had worn the day before, simply hoping that no one would notice. Once he was dressed, Michael sighed. Tomorrow. _Tomorrow._ His whole life had been tomorrows. He wanted, just once, for something to be his today.

He chuckled at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and combed through his hair with his hands.

As he walked down the carpeted stairs and into the hotel diner (where a few people were already seated, enjoying coffee and a morning paper) where he ordered only a glass of orange juice. He could never stomach food in the mornings, but he needed some form of sustenance.

He sat at a small booth, sipping his juice and looking around. He enjoyed “people watching” as some called it. He enjoyed thinking about the lives of those he did not and never would know. It left an air of mystery for them. Michael might create their entire life story as he sat in that booth, watchful and dormant, theorizing as to the possible reasons for their being there.

A woman sat across from a man, sipping a mug of hot coffee (Michael had heard her order, black.) and reading a paper which lay flat on the table in front of her. Across from her, the man sat reading a book. It was a recent publication of The Picture of Dorian Gray, a not too well known book, but a good one all the same. It was one of Michael’s favorites, in fact. Though Mr. Wilde had gone on to write comedic plays, Michael had enjoyed the dark twist on a close intellectual relationship, and the idea that vanity could, indeed corrupt. Though he thought it excellent writing, as well, he admired the plot and the risks that Wilde had taken, and he hoped to someday be able to publish something as personal as that. 

Though that was nowhere in the near future, Michael hoped that someday… _Someday_. There it was again. Always right there and yet just out of reach. 

He sighed again, tapping his foot and taking another sip of his orange juice as he flipped through the menu, contemplating buying a small breakfast, when the door of the restaurant opened and a woman in a long dark blue dress, fashionable corset buttoned tightly, entered. Her skin was a light brown, and she seemed to glow with the very way that she moved. On her head was a small hat, complete with a veil, which covered the very top of her short hair. The hair was long enough to be wrapped into a bun, and her bangs were low over her eyebrows.

The waiter at the breakfast bar greeted her, “Hello, Miss Canigula. What for you today?”

Miss Canigula, as she was apparently called, greeted him kindly, wide smile on her face as she sat down at one of the chairs. “Just a club sandwich and a small glass of water, than you Rich.”  
She smiled as Rich wiped off the bar. “So how’s Jakey boy doin?”

“He’s alright, he’s alright.” Rich had a slight Southern drawl, barely noticeable.

Michael watched as Rich smirked and began to prepare the sandwich. 

“Been starting to hate the city, though. Wishes he could move.”

Miss Canigula nodded, Michael sipped his orange juice.

“Do give him my regards, it’s strange I havent seen him for so long. Brooke and Chloe miss the both of you as well.”

Rich nodded, “Do they? I’m surprised.” He chuckled as he sliced the lettuce for her sandwich. 

“Oh don’t be that way, you know they love you.” 

Michael looked back down at his menu as they continued talking, after all, it wasn’t his business to listen. The diner offered a long list of sandwiches and soups, but nothing light enough for a breakfast. He left ten cents on the table, enough for the juice and a tip, and walked back to his room.

The musty smell typical to most hotels Michael had stayed in before wasn’t present here, and neither was the dampness. He supposed that it was a much nicer hotel than any other he had stayed in before, despite it not even being very nice itself by New York’s standards. 

When Michael reached his room and entered, he fully relaxed. The room, in the few days that he had been in the city, had become a sort of home to him. An impersonal home. A temporary home, halfway in between his old life and his new one. It represented, for Michael, the turning point. The place where he would finally become the person who he was meant to be, and the place he would leave a better man.

Michael smiled at the thought. Truly, he would never forget Ellie’s. It had been his introduction to New York, and he would forever be grateful for that, but as he sat down at the desk chair pulled up to the window, he felt a strange sadness.

It was the first time Michael had actually missed home. Well, he didn’t really miss home. He missed Nellie, and he missed his little spot by the stream, and he missed his ride to work each day. Perhaps that was home, though. In his spirit, the house in which he had lived for all of those years was not his home. The things that he had found, however, to brighten his dull life, _were_.

Michael glanced at his pocketwatch and then back out at the city. Only noon and yet the sky was a vibrant blue. He grinned at the simple complexity of it all. At life. At all that had happened and all that would. 

For the rest of the day, Michael jotted down words and phrases in his journal, periodically rereading a chapter from _Ten Days in a Madhouse_ and grinning at it like it was the only good thing he had ever read. He was truly anxiously awaiting Jeremy’s arrival. He had made only one friend, and it was over the course of just three hours, in this place. He was nervous of this second meeting’s outcome. 

He ate a mid afternoon dinner with tea and then waited in the diner for Jeremy to arrive. He spoke to the barman, Rich.

Rich was a nice man. He lived with his best of friends, a young bachelor named Jacob Dillinger (Rich called him “Jake,” affectionately as he had with Miss Canigula) who had moved to New York from San Francisco in order to begin a career in acting. Michael showed immense interest in both Rich and Jake’s professions, as he was indeed interested.

“What about you, then?” Michael asked, after Rich had explained Jake’s reasons for coming to the city. 

“Me? Lived here my whole life.” Rich smiled, leaning on the bar. The dining room was empty and Michael hadn’t ordered anything. He thought, maybe, that he had made another friend. That was exciting. 

“That must be nice.” Michael smiled, “Though perhaps it’s better to move here, you appreciate something the more you apprehend it’s reality.”

“That’s poetic.” Rich removed a cigarette from his pocket and grabbed a match from above the stove. “Do you smoke?”

Michael nodded, Rich handed him a cigarette and struck the match against the counter, Michael leaned close to him that rich might light it properly, and once he had, Rich lit his own and shook the match into smoke. He tossed it onto the stovetop. 

“It will burn eventually.” He pointed out.

Michael inhaled, holding the cigarette between two fingers. “Not opium, I’m glad.”

Rich snorted, “Anyone who gets hooked on opium is a snatch.” He blew the smoke out of his nose, pacing around the kitchen as he spoke. “Besides, there’s not much of that shit around here.”

Michael snorted, “I guess it’s just where I was raised, opium dens were everywhere.”

Rich made a noise of acknowledgement, “You from the West?”

“South, Georgia.”

“Eh. Makes sense.” Rich yawned, “You’ll find plenty uh hashish parlors around here but those opium bars are less common.” He tapped the ashes of his cigarette on the edge of the counter, Michael did the same. “I mean, it’s a big city so of course we’ve got a variety of different people. I prefer to stick with tobacco and hashish, but many people...Don’t.”

Michael nodded, coughing and turning around as the door to the restaurant opened, he crushed his cigarette in the ashtray at the other end of the counter when he saw who it was. 

“Mister _Jeremy Heere_. How are you, friend?” _Rich_ spoke? Rich knew Jeremy.

Michael stood up as Jeremy all but jogged over to give Rich a hurried hug. 

“I’m well, and you?”

“I am doing quite well myself, me and Jacob just got a new apartment, actually.”

Jeremy grinned, looking at Rich with a shared look. 

“Good, good.” Jeremy said, eyes finding Michael. “And there’s the man I came to see. Rich and Michael, I see you two have become acquainted.”

“We have.” Michael smiled, walking the rest of the way across the room until he was beside the both of them. 

“Well then,” Jeremy was smiling at the both of them intermittently now, “I really would love to stay but Michael and I _do_ have tickets and I _must_ apologize,” he turned to Michael, “I’ve already made us late.”

“There is no need.” Michael assured him, smiling. “I’ve never been early to anything in my life, why should I start now?”

Jeremy chuckled at that, waving goodbye to Rich and exchanging a nod with him as he led the way to the door.

Michael looked at Jeremy now in a different light than he had the day before. Now he was not simply a figure in the lamplit restaurant, alone with Michael in a whirlwind of intellectual conversation, he was a man. A man with friends, and a laugh that could light up an already well lit room. As they walked out into the sunshine, a cool breeze blew through Michael’s thin coat, he shivered. 

“So, Aunt Abigail’s Baby.”

“Bridget’s.” Jeremy corrected, smiling at Michael and glancing at him through the corner of his eye. 

“Aunt Bridget’s Baby, what might that be about.”

Jeremy shrugged, “I haven’t the slightest.”

Michael burst out laughing. Jeremy grinned as they walked. 

“You’ve bought us tickets to a show which you know nothing about?” 

“Indeed I have, and I would again. I should like to experience something entirely new to the both of us with you. You seem an insightful and opinionated man.

“I believe myself to be opinionated, Sir, but insightful might be an exaggeration of the term.” Michael chuckled, “I am insightful in the sense that my brightest thoughts arise on the page when I write, and yet not in my mouth when I speak.”

“You are an eloquent man, Mr. Mell.” Jeremy teased, “I believe it not. Though, I daresay, your writing is technically impeccable, the samples that you gave me lacked a spirit. The spirit with which you talk.”

Michael blushed, it was the greatest compliment he had ever received. “Why thank you, Jeremy.” There was a dip in the conversation as they turned a corner. “I do think...I do think that we are going to become good friends, you and I.” Michael admitted aloud. 

“I have entertained the possibility,” The corners of Jeremy’s eyes crinkled as he smiled wide, “and I would very much enjoy a friendship with a man such as yourself.”

Michael’s heart swelled, he had, he thought, subconsciously wanted a friendship such as Jeremy’s for his entire life. He had never had one, though, which until then had been a tragedy.

Now, though, as they walked the chilly streets towards the theater, Michael knew that this was exactly what he had wanted. Simply a person who he might trust and accept, and who might do the same for him. 

“Here we are.” Jeremy smiled, pointing at the sign above the theater. “Aunt Bridget’s Baby, Sold Out.” He read the sign and grinned, removing the tickets from his pocket and bringing them up to the ticket booth.

As the collector took them and allowed them inside, Jeremy and Michael shared a look of excitement for the play. They walked through the lavish dores, and Michael felt underdressed upon seeing the glowing chandelier that sparkled above them.

“This place is….Beautiful.” Michael looked around and then back at Jeremy, who was smiling like a madman. 

“I’m so glad you like it. Here, look, I’ll show you our seats.”

Michael followed as Jeremy lead the way up a staircase and onto the balcony overlooking the stage. Only a few of the lavish velvet backed chairs had been filled, and Michael was glad for that. “This way,” and for a moment, Jeremy took a hold of his sleeve, tugging him over to the front row, dead center seats. Jeremy let go. “Here we are.”

Michael sat down, smiling. “I can’t believe I’m _here_.”

Jeremy looked out at the stage, nodding and whispering back to him, “It’s one of my favorite places to be, I enjoy Broadway shows these days more than anything else.”

Michael lowered his voice as well, “Have you any idea at all what the show is about?”

“None.” Jeremy met his eyes and smiled, “That’s the fun of it.”

As the theater filled, the conversation dulled to comfortable silence. Their shoulders were touching because of the closeness of the seats, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, really. Michael enjoyed Jeremy’s warmth, and his company, very much. As every seat in the theater finally filled, Jeremy nudged his arm. “Soon.” He whispered, leaning close to Michael’s neck. Michael nodded, smiling. He was excited.

The lights went down, and Michael’s eyes were fixed on the stage.

When it came time for the intermission, Michael frantically wiped the tears out of his eyes to hide them from Jeremy, but as he looked over at Jeremy under the light for the first time since they had gone down, he could see the tear streaks down his cheek as well. 

Michael found himself reaching a finger out and poking Jeremy’s cheek. 

Jeremy looked confused for a moment, until he looked at Michael and simply laughed.

“Are you enjoying it, then?” Jeremy asked, smiling.

“I am indeed, very much so. Thank you so much for taking me, I could not be more grateful.”

Jeremy simply smiled at that. “Would you like to take a short walk before the second half? The intermission is a full thirty minutes.”

Michael nodded, “I’d like to stretch my legs.”

“Me too.”

As they made their way outside, Michael found himself wondering how often Jeremy did this alone. Coming to musicals, taking a brisk walk, perhaps having an after theater meal at the theater’s restaurant (which he did hope they would do. He, indeed, wanted to know Jeremy, and the only way to know someone was through communication. Though this outing had been very much fun, they had not gotten to know each other any better since the start of it.)

Jeremy lead the way outside, Michael took out a cigarette. 

“You smoke?” Jeremy asked. 

Michael nodded, “Calms me.”

“Huh.”

“Why?” Michael asked, resting the cigarette between his lips and digging in his pocket for a match to light it with. When he had found one, he lit it and inhaled.

“I just wondered.” Jeremy shrugged. “I mean, most do.”

Michael sighed, exhaling the smoke and looking at Jeremy questioningly, “So you don’t?”

“I prefer not to.” Jeremy shook his head, smiling. “I don’t mind other people doing it, I just don’t.”

Michael shrugged, letting the cigarette rest between his fingers as they walked. He smiled, “Have you enjoyed the play so far?”

Jeremy grinned at that. “Very much. It made me emotional, as you could clearly see.”

“Indeed I could. It’s not a big deal, though. Despite my hiding them, my tears didn’t stop until the lights came up.”

Jeremy smirked at him, “I thought you might have been crying, but I didn’t want to ask.”

Michael chuckled taking another drag from his cigarette and looking around, they were standing on a streetcorner. “We should turn around, wouldn’t want to miss the beginning of the second act.”

Jeremy agreed. 

When they had made it back into the theater and to their seats, Jeremy tapped his shoulder, “Would you like to get dinner after the show?”

Michael nodded, “Here? Or somewhere else?”

“Here. They have the most amazing steak and potatoes you’ll ever-” The music began, the lights dimmed, and Aunt Bridget’s voice filled the room as she took the stage.

~~~

By the time the play was over, Michael was absolutely worn out. It had been a quite emotional performance, and by the end there wasn’t a single man or woman in the theater without tears in their eyes. 

Only when they had finally made their way out of the crowded and bright theater, and were waiting in line for apparent reservations which Jeremy had made for supper, did they speak to each other again.

“Did you enjoy the ending?” Jeremy asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking almost anxiously around at the crowd of people. 

“Very much so.” Michael grinned, reaching a hand to his neck to loosen his bow tie, he had begun to perspire in the crowded building. As people bustled about them, talking and filling the room with laughter and conversation. A woman brushed against Michael’s back as she passed by them, glancing back at him and touching the brim of her hat. After that, she was gone, but Jeremy was looking at Michael with a knowing expression. “What is it?” Michael asked.

Jeremy giggled, “She was flirting with you.”

Michael scoffed, “She was not. Besides, why would she?”

“Well who could resist a man with such charm as yourself?” Jeremy ran a hand through his hair, smiling. He stood on his tiptoes as the line began to move again. “We are to be seated next!” He announced. 

Michael smiled, “Good, I’m famished.”

A few minutes later they were escorted through a lavish dining room, lined with leather backed chairs and fine china on every table, Michael was astonished at it all.

As they sat down, Michael looked around in wonder at the establishment. “This place is….Wow.”

Jeremy grinned at him, “I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Of course I am.”

“Well…” Jeremy trailed off as their waiter came, offering two glasses of champagne. They both accepted and Michael took a delicate sip from his glass before setting it on the table again. 

“Well…?” Michael prompted.

“Oh! Yes, I...That was the goal of this outing.”

“To make me happy?”

“As my newest employee and my newest friend, yes.” Jeremy raised his glass, Michael clinked his own against it. They both sipped. 

“I do not think that I could share unpleasant company with you, Mr. Heere.” Michael smiled, taking the small menu and looking at it. 

“You need not bother with the menu.” Jeremy assured him. “Do you like tomatoes?”

Michael nodded.

“The tomato soup, then.” 

Michael nodded again, “That sounds wonderful.”

Jeremy ordered for both of them, and when the waiter had gone he tucked his elbows carefully under the table. “So...I realize that I never asked. What brought you to New York?”

Michael smiled, “It’s uh… Kind of a long story.”

“We have all night.”

Michael shrugged, “Well I uh...I’ve always loved reading the copies of The World’s articles that made their way down to Georgia. Especially um...Miss Bly’s.”

“Ah yes, Nellie.” Jeremy smiled fondly, “She’s away right now, visiting her mother in Pennsylvania.” 

Michael nodded in understanding. “Yes, well...I saved up money from a full time job as a farmhand and I went to the closest college to my home for four years.”

“What did you study?”

“English language.” Michael chuckled. “And in 1887, my first year, when Nellie pulled her stunt at the Asylum, no one could get enough of it. I decided that that’s who I wanted to be. The man who did such things that people were not simply content with my own personal record of it. I would like not only to write, but to be written about. And so here I am.” He gave Jeremy a small smile, “In my mind that sounded less narcissistic.”

“It didn’t sound narcissistic at all.” Jeremy assured him. “It….It makes sense.” He nodded, raising a hand and taking his glass from the table to take a sip. 

“I am glad of that.” Michael chuckled, “I would not like to come across as though I believe myself to be...Above anyone else. It is the opposite, really, I find myself unworthy of all that I have found in the past few days.”

Jeremy looked intrigued, “What have you found?”

“Freedom.” Michael took a deep breath and sipped his champagne, “From...Everything that I was before.”

Jeremy tilted his head, “I think that I understand where you’re coming from. I mean...All I’ve ever wanted is independence from my father, ‘tis yet to happen.” He chuckled, placing his glass down. “Realistically, I won’t be without him until he dies.”

Michael quieted, thinking for a moment before almost murmuring, “Have you ever wished death upon your parents?”

“Oh...I…” Jeremy looked around the restaurant. “I...I have, yes.” 

“As have I,” Michael began, “My mother is the cruellest woman on God’s good earth.”

“What has she done?”

“Many things.” Michael spoke vaguely, taking another sip of his drink, as he did, the waiter arrived with their food. “Thank you.” Michael smiled at him and raised his spoon, taking a bite of the soup. It _was_ very good. “This is incredible.” He said, looking at Jeremy.

“I _know_!” Jeremy exclaimed, “Their food is some of the best.” He took a bite of his club sandwich. 

Michael nodded in agreement, taking another bite of soup. They ate in silence for a few minutes until Jeremy spoke up.

“Have you a favorite work of literature, then? As an english student?”

“I...I do.”

“Which is it?”

“I quite liked Ten Days in a Madhouse, but I should have to go with Great Expectations.”

Jeremy chuckled, “I must be the only man in the world who hasn’t read anything by Dickens.”

Michael scoffed, “You’ve never lived in Georgia. Half of the men there did not even come to school past the age of ten.”

“Well, they aren’t much competition here, are they?” Jeremy joked, “Besides, ‘tis no matter. I mustn't mull over it too much. Besides, I have plenty of time in this life to read books, less to become successful while I’m still young.” Jeremy grinned, taking another sip from his champagne flute.

“You and I have similar mentalities as to success, I see.” Michael smiled. 

“Indeed.” They clinked glasses once again and Michael ate another spoonful of soup. 

“I find myself wondering…” He began, “Why stay with your father’s business if you wish to be independent? You make considerable funds, I know.”

Jeremy nodded, “I would like to continue to manage The World after my father’s death. If I abandon him, he shan’t want me owning anything of his. As is now, I will be left all that he own in his will.”

Michael tilted his head sympathetically, meeting Jeremy’s eyes. 

Jeremy gave him a soft, half smile, “It’s really alright. He is dying now, and has been for quite some time. He refuses to put down his pen, though, and he runs this newspaper firm as he wishes to run it.”

Michael nodded, “He seems a stubborn man.”

“He is when he desires to be.” Jeremy giggled, it sounded like music. “But recently he does not.”

Michael blushed and ducked his head to hide it. He sipped his champagne.

After they had both finished their food, and had been talking for quite some time, they decided to leave the restaurant. 

Jeremy paid the bill. Michael did not see the amount on the tab, and he didn’t want to. He was simply grateful. 

“I can walk you back to Ellie’s, if you would be alright with that?” Jeremy offered. 

Michael just nodded, hugging himself in the cold. He checked his pocketwatch, it was just after twelve. “Are you and Rich close?” He asked.

“Very. We have known each other since grade school.” Jeremy replied, and his voice was somehow, on this empty sidewalk, the most beautiful thing Michael had ever heard.

“Oh?”

“We only really got to know each other after his mother died in a fire when he was sixteen.” Jeremy nodded, looking over at Michael. “He lived with me, for a time, we… Didn’t get along well, at first.”

Michael nodded, “I understand. He seems very nice. Do you know Jacob as well?”

“Oh Jake? Yes, he’s quite a good friend of mine as well. Very kind fellow, never hurt a fly.” Jeremy smiled. 

Michael found himself staring at Jeremy’s smile and quickly looked away, unsure of why he had been doing so. Ellie’s came into their sights. 

As they arrived, Jeremy offered Michael a hug in farewell, Michael accepted, breathing in the smell of pine needles and fresh soap. He pulled away, not wanting the embrace to last too long, and nodded Jeremy goodbye. 

“First day tomorrow, Michael. Get some sleep.”

Michael nodded, “I will.” He assured Jeremy, waving a final goodbye before walking into the hotel and up the stairs. 

When he made it to his room he collapsed on his bed, he was exhausted. 

He fell asleep thinking about Jeremy again, this time about the way that he smelled, and the melodic way he had said Michael’s name, as if it were the only word to ever grace his lips.


	3. The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael begins his job at the world and meets his determined and stone faced co-worker Chloe, as well as Rich's roommate Jake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After some shitposting, I Love Lucy reruns, YourMovieSucksDOTorg marathons, and a lot of procrastinating, here's chapter two (ft some pinkberry and richjake because fuck y'all i do what i want)
> 
> (warning for some minor internalized homophobia)
> 
> thank you so much to abbie (@/kleinsens on tumblr) for being my beta for this chapter!! bless!!

_Tuesday, April 5, 1892_  
_Although not eventful to the outsider’s eye, Monday night was perhaps the best night of my life. Jeremy Heere took me to a luxurious venue where we saw the most tear-invoking show; I doubt there was a single soul in the theater who didn’t cry._

_I am amazed, truly. I did not think that people like Jeremy existed until I met him, and once I did, I was reinvented; all that I had thought I’d known before was swept under a rug. It’s all so strange. We hardly know each other, yet with him I am closer than with anyone else in my entire lifetime._

_However, I have no way of knowing whether he feels the same towards me. What am I to him? A friend, surely, but how does he view me beyond that? Has his vision been so misconstrued that he thinks me to be different than I truly am? Have I somehow played a dream in his waking mind? Why, of all the people upon his friendship could be bestowed, am I the chosen one? Forever the runt of the pack._

_I suppose there is no real explanation, and I ought to be grateful simply to spend this time with him._  
_Until tomorrow,_  
_Michael Mell_

Michael sighed, hunched over his journal. He pressed the small book closed, placing his fountain pen carefully beside it. 

Today was the day. 

He had risen before dawn, as he had on the farm, to prepare for work. He wasn’t hungry; he never was in the morning. From what Jeremy had described to him about the work environment of the actual newsroom, it wasn’t exactly a place to be dressed up. Michael dressed casually. 

He groaned, standing up. Several strange and unassuming dreams had haunted him the night before, all invoking absolute terror in him. There was nothing more frightening, Michael thought, than a dream that was simply _frightening_ in its own right. He’d not been able to shake the strange fear that the dream had implanted in him since he awoke. 

He walked to the window, taking a quick glance at the skyline of the city as he opened the curtains, allowing more light into the room. He sat down at his desk chair, still propped up next to the window, and closed his eyes. It had only been three days, which Michael found unbelievable. In these past three days he had done so much, planned so much, seen so much of the city that he had only dreamt about. He had made a friend. He was living freely for the first time in his life.

Michael checked his pocket watch. It was six forty five, meaning that if he left immediately, he would be able to make it to work right at seven. He wanted make it to work relatively early, so as not to disturb anyone and to begin working as quickly as possible.

He wondered what type of assignments he might have. He’d read a few editions of The World (besides, of course, all of Nellie Bly’s articles), and he knew that many were crime articles; specifically, ones reporting on murders. Perhaps he might get the chance to report a _murder_. 

Michael left his hotel that morning with gusto, prepared to seize the day.

When he arrived at The World Co. building, he took a shaky breath before walking in. The secretary smiled at him as he entered, standing up and reaching out to shake his hand. 

“Mr. Heere told me you’d gotten the job,” she said, shaking his hand firmly before walking back behind her desk. “I _had_ been wondering, you do seem the type.” The secretary picked up a pile of loose papers, stacking them neatly. “I’ll be showing you our writing room, and then your desk.” The secretary nodded her head in the direction of the stairs, “My name is Brooke Coen, but Brooke will suffice.” 

Michael smiled politely. “It’s very nice to meet you, Brooke.” He remembered hearing that name, ‘Brooke’, quite a few times in the conversation that Rich had been having with a certain Miss Canigula. “Do you by any chance know someone by the name of Richard? Goranski?”

Brooke giggled quietly as she tucked the stack of papers under her arm. “Yes. He’s quite a good friend of mine, actually,” she said as she began leading the way upstairs.

Michael nodded. “I’ve only just met him, he seems a very nice man.”

“He’s….an interesting personality.”

They made it to the second floor, a door to their right and another flight of stairs to their left. Brooke turned right and placed a hand on the door’s brass handle, hesitating for a moment before opening it.

The smell of stale cigarette smoke filled the air of the writing room, though the air itself was clear. Desks filled the room, each one equipped with a typical non expensive typewriter, as well as the occasional family photograph or potted plant. Michael spotted his own desk right away, sittinng in the corner of the room, completely empty besides the typewriter sitting atop it. The chair in front of it was wooden and looked rather uncomfortable. The entire setup was, overall, incredibly drab.

Michael smiled, though. This was _it_.  
Only one other person was in the room with them as Brooke walked him to his desk. “Here you are,” she said, smiling. “It’s not too fancy, but I’m sure you’ll dress it up just fine.” She glanced over her shoulder at the tall woman typewriting frantically, a notebook sitting open on her immaculately spotless desk. A cigarette was balanced between the woman’s fingers, leaving a faint trail of smoke as her fingers danced across the keys. “That’s Chloe Valentine, writer, muckraker, genius. She keeps the boys’ egos in check.”

Chloe looked up, eyes meeting Brooke’s, and then glanced Michael, who had taken a seat down at his new desk chair. 

“A new face!” Chloe exclaimed, sounding almost pseudo-excited. Though Michael could tell she was making an honest attempt at being genuine, she looked very tired.

Michael chuckled. “There’s no need to let me distract you.”

Chloe looked back down at the article she had been writing, taking a drag from her cigarette, and looking back up at Michael. “You aren’t. I was just finishing up.” She pulled the paper out of the typewriter, unphased by the loud noise that it produced, and opened one of her desk drawers, taking out a stack of papers. She placed her newly-finished article in the back and stood up. 

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Miss Coen, but could you take these down to the printroom? It’s for this evening’s edition.” Her voice was stilted, as if she was not saying everything she desired to. Michael realised that his presence was probably somewhat intrusive. After all, the room had been nearly empty when he had arrived Chloe was probably used to having this time to herself.

“Of course.” Brooke smiled sweetly, taking the papers. She placed her other stack of papers on Michael’s desk. “These are your assignments for the week. You’ll be writing for the Evening World until further notice. If we need you on a location, we will provide a horse and buggy for you to be transported there if it is not within walking distance. And...I believe that’s about all the information you’ll need for now.” She paused, furrowing her eyebrows in thought. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I almost forgot, the restroom is downstairs to the left if you need it.” 

Michael nodded, itching to glance at his week’s assignments. Only a column per day, but he would be paid generously; about 14 cents an hour, according to Jeremy, which was almost twice as much as he had been making before. He would be able to pay rent for a small apartment in almost no time at all if he worked full days. 

Brooke smiled at him, “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” Her hair bounced and her heels clicked against the concrete floor as she walked out and closed the door behind her.

The sudden sound of a match lighting startled Michael, who turned around to see Chloe lighting another cigarette. “What is it?” She asked. 

“Nothing… Nothing. Just startled me, that’s all.” Michael shook his head, turning back around and reading his assignments. The clacking noise of Chloe’s typewriter began again, and Michael focused on the methodic rhythm of each tap, the bell after each line was finished. An abrupt _ding!_ from the typewriter almost caused Michael to miss the opening and closing of the writing room door.

_Almost._

He swiveled around in his chair, glancing around at the door. Standing just inside the room was… 

“Jeremy?”

Jeremy glanced over to his corner and grinned, “Michael! I’m so glad you’re here.”

Michael blushed. “Of course… I didn’t - I didn’t want to be late.”

Jeremy leaned on the desk behind Michael’s. “Have you looked at your assignments yet?”

“Oh, um...Yeah.” Michael smiled. “I haven’t any idea about any of these things.”

“That’s the beauty of being a reporter, isn’t it? Learning constantly.”

Michael bit his lip, contemplating that thought. “I suppose it is. Will I be going on-site for any of these?”

Jeremy leaned over his shoulder, glancing at the list. “Ah, yes, I added one to the bottom of the list this morning. That should be your top priority. The Sheriff promised me that he would come and do an interview about a recent murder down in Manhattan.”

Michael’s eyes widened, re-reading the last item on the list. “Sheriff - Manhattan, 6534 on Jefferson. That’s- I’m- I get to report on a _murder_?”

Jeremy smiled, “Yes. To toughen you up and to test your skill level in reporting _real_ things. No offense, but your portfolio could do with some more interesting content. The writing is good, the information is…”

Michael nodded, “I know.”

“Well, I have much to do, if the Sheriff arrives, Brooke will send him up. Until then, we need a small fictional feature for tonight’s paper. No more than two hundred words.” He smiled, tapped Michael’s shoulder, and straightened up, giving Michael one last glance before saying a brief hello to Chloe and exiting the room.

Michael sighed, looking down at his assignments. _Oh gosh._ He grinned. _A fictional feature._

This job truly was all that he had hoped for. He glanced once more over his shoulder at Chloe, she was lost in her writing. He turned back to his desk and pulled his chair back that he might look through the drawers. 

In one there was a stack of papers, in another there was a collection of cheap looking ink ribbons. Pencils, ink, paperweights. All cheap but useable. Not what he had expected. At his old writing position he had been told to acquire all the items he needed himself, here he was at least provided with some supplies.

Michael smiled, taking out a sheet of paper and writing out a brief outline of his story. He did not want it to be too flashy, as he did not intend to show off, but he did not want to under represent himself and his skills. 

He assured himself that it would be alright, and began to write. He became so lost in the clicking of his keys and the _ding!_ after each line had been completed that he almost did not notice the time passing.

After an hour, the door opened again, Michael had just finished typing up his final draft (exactly two hundred words, he had counted.) A tall man in the most casual of attire strode in, smoking a cigarette and carrying with him a small brown briefcase.

He did not speak to anyone, but sat at his desk and began working immediately. Michael ignored him, turning to Chloe.

“Excuse me...Um...Chloe?” 

“That is indeed my name.” She spoke without looking up.

“I’ve just finished my article what shall I… Do with it?”

“Take it downstairs to the printroom, give it to Brooke.”

“Thank you.”

Chloe just nodded, narrowing her eyes at the page in front of her. 

Michael walked across the large room, opening the heavy door and walking down the stairs. He counted them as he went. 

_One, two, three, four, five-_ His counting was interrupted as he saw Brooke at the bottom of the staircase. Next to her was a short man in a dark suit. He, Michael assumed, was the sheriff. “Oh, Brooke, hello. It’s nice to see you again.” He dipped his head to the Sheriff, “Sir.”

“And you, Mr Mell.” Brooke frowned, “Why don’t you come down and acquaint yourself with Mr Reyes.” 

Michael nodded, walking down the remaining steps and shaking the Sheriff’s hand. He handed Chloe the article in his hands, “For the evening edition.” He smiled, she gave him a small smile back. 

“Thank you, Mr Mell. Why don’t you commence the interview, then? Take him to the writing room.”

Michael nodded, pointing up the stairs. “Just this way, Sir.”

“Thank you.” 

They walked up the steps in silence, Michael could feel his face turning red with nervousness and excitement. _A murder_.

As he opened the door, two voices could be heard. Chloe’s and the voice of the man who had entered a few minutes ago. Michael walked in to see her standing, pointing at him accusingly.

“No! _Jacob_ you can’t just- you can’t-” She groaned in frustration. Her hands moved wildly as she spoke. “You dirty little-”

Michael coughed, Chloe turned around, startled. She quieted down, sighing in defeat and sitting back down in front of her typewriter. Michael heard Jacob mumble something under his breath.

 _Jacob? There’s no way-_ Michael shook his head, leading the Sheriff over to his desk and pulling up a spare chair. _There’s no way that he’s Rich’s friend. That would be much too coincidental, with him already having met Brooke and Chloe. Besides, Rich had told him that Jake wanted to be an actor._

“Have a seat, Mr Reyes.”

The Sheriff politely sat, smiling and folding his hands in his lap politely, “Lay em on me, Mr Mell.”

Michael chuckled, glancing around. He had made a short list of questions for the Sheriff to answer.

“Ah, here we are. Please excuse me.”

Mr Reyes chuckled, “It’s no bother. No bother at all.”

Michael smiled, taking out a pencil and a sheet of paper. “Here we are. The first question: when did you and your fellow officers arrive at the scene?”

“We were alerted at about five o'clock this morning that there had been a disturbance.”

“And upon your discovery of the body, what was its state of being?”

“All torn up, blood everywhere. Head bashed in, stabbed. It was like he done wanted to make the scene horrifying.”

“Who was the victim?”

“A young girl, she was goin’ to a college down the street. Two friends confirmed that her name was Whitney Higgens, moved here with hopes of gettin’ onto broadway. Obviously she never made it.”

Michael nodded solemnly, taking note and quoting the Sheriff’s answer. “And um...Let’s see. Are you in pursuit of any suspects?”

“We haven’t got any leads yet as to who may have committed it, but our official statement, on the record, is that we will not rest until whoever has done this is brought to justice. “

Michael nodded, quoting him and looking at the page of notes. “What was the approximate time of death?”

“About four thirty.”

“Thank you so much, Mr Reyes.” Michael said as he his notes, focusing on the scratching of the pencil for a moment to distract himself from the weight of this article. He finished writing and stood up, a motion for Mr Reyes to stand as well. He did, and he shook Michael’s hand. 

As Michael walked to the door and bid the Sheriff farewell, he contemplated the style with which he would write the article. Obviously he must state the facts, but should he or should he not attempt to connect to the reader’s emotional standpoint. 

He decided against it. A newspaper was made to tell facts, he knew that, and he would stand by it.

Michael glanced around at the writing room. Nine thirty and still only two people had arrived. He supposed that many people must have on site or muckraking jobs.

As he sat down, he thought for a moment about where he was. _How_ he was. He had been in New York for only a week and he had already found himself a job, already he was already succeeding further than he ever thought that he would. At least he hoped. He did not want to hope for too much. His short story was everything but a work of genius. He just hoped that the report would stand out (somehow) and help him prove that he was worthy of working at _The World_ at all.

Michael was aware that he was expected to choose his work hours and that he would be paid accordingly (with an additional interest for every article published) but he was already tired after two hours in the writing room. He had barely accomplished anything, he knew, but he felt worn already. Though he wished to leave and come back tomorrow to finish the article, he forced himself to stay. 

“Blazes.” Michael muttered as he sat down in his uncomfortable wooden chair, preparing to write an article which could potentially be featured on the front cover of one of the top selling newspapers in New York.

He finished writing at twelve o’clock, rubbing his eyes and forehead as he yawned and stood up. Jacob had left at some point, though he could not pinpoint exactly when, while he was writing, but Chloe hadn’t moved except to collect more paper from Brooke downstairs. 

Michael picked up his satchel and cracked his knuckles as he exited the writing room. He muttered a brief goodbye to Chloe, who simply made a small noise of acknowledgment in response as she continued to type.

He would forever wonder how she kept writing for so many hours on end. Writing, writing, _writing_. Michael was amazed at a women, at _anyone_ , who had the kind of motivation that she did.

The stairwell was filled with chilly air, and he glanced up to see an open window high on the wall. He wondered who had opened it, but shrugged it off, simply hugging himself for warmth. He wondered why it was so _cold._ That was New York, he supposed. Cold for eight months and boiling hot for the other four. 

He handed Brooke his finished article and said goodbye to her as he left, politely smiling and waving goodbye. As soon as he was out of the building he frowned again. 

Why was he so unhappy? Michael could not tell. It was not that he did not enjoy his new job, or that he believed it to be unsatisfying. It lived up to most of his expectations, actually. Perhaps that was _it_ , though. 

Perhaps he had expected so little of it because, somewhere in his subconscious, he had wanted to be happily surprised. He wasn’t. It was alright, though. He was happy to work in a place where he might be able to write about events that were actually news. Michael even got to report on a murder his _first day_. 

So really, he would enjoy this job. Michael knew that he would. 

When he reached his hotel, he was about to go up to his room when he paused. He _was_ hungry, he might as well buy a sandwich and talk to Rich.

Michael sat down at the bar, looking at a menu. Rich smiled and walked over. 

“Hello, the famous Michael Mell.”

“Excuse me?” Michael chuckled.

“Jeremy can’t shut his trap about you.”

Michael blushed, “He- what?”

“He came by earlier today, asked if you had come back yet, we talked a bit. He could stop yapping about Aunt Something’s Baby?” Rich rolled his eyes, “Anyways, what can I get for you?”

“Just a chicken sandwich, please.”

Rich smiled, “On the house, for getting Jerry boy to loosen up a bit.”

“I- thank you.” Michael smiled crossing his arms and resting his elbows on the table. He glanced around. There was a couple sitting a few tables away having a heated argument, all in whispers. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he imagined it. Perhaps she had been caught with another man, or perhaps _he_ had. _The plot thickens._

Michael almost laughed aloud to himself, but he suppressed it, managing to pass it off as a cough. 

“So.” Rich said, beginning to slice the bread. “Was Jake at the office today?”

Michael sat up a little straighter, “He was. I am a bit confused. You said he came to New York to be an actor.”

Rich chuckled, continuing to make the sandwich. “He _wants_ to be an actor, hasn’t quite made it yet. Jeremy got him a job down at the paper to help him pay the bills.”

“Does Jeremy give jobs to anyone he likes?” Michael frowned, that could have been the only reason he was hired at all. He wouldn’t be surprised if all that Jeremy saw in him was a good friend, and not a good writer.

Rich scoffed, “Never. Do you know how long it took to convince him to give Jake a job? Months.”

Michael’s anxiety settled, his stomach flipped. So Jeremy _did_ appreciate his writing, and….him.

He was not quite sure how to feel about that. Jeremy was perhaps the kindest, smartest, and most beautiful man that Michael had ever come across, and for him to genuinely choose him as company… 

“Here you go.” Rich smiled and placed a plate in front of Michael, on it was his sandwich. 

“Thanks, Rich. Really. I don’t have much right now so every meal counts.”

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing.” Rich leaned on the counter and lit a cigarette. 

The restaurant door opened. 

“Hey Jakey! We were just talkin about you!” The tall man from the writing room, looked over to them.

“Rich!” Jake walked quickly over to the bar, sitting beside Michael and grinning at Rich. “Long day today, Chloe yelled at me again.”

Rich rolled his eyes, wiping his hands on a rag. “You _know_ you deserve it.”

Jake sighed, still grinning, “I suppose I probably do.” He paused for a moment. “Have you seen Christine lately?”

“Only once a few days ago, she comes in for breakfast every weekend.”

“I realized how little I’ve seen of her lately.”

“She’s quite busy.”

The door opened again, Michael glanced over, it was _Jeremy_. Of course it was.

“Is this like...A meeting place that all of you have?” Michael asked, smiling through his confusion. 

Jeremy walked over to them, sitting at Michael’s other side. 

“Incidentally, yes.” Jeremy chuckled, “Rich, Jake, and I are all quite good friends.”

“You can’t leave out the ladies.” Jake tilted his head, “Brooke and Chloe, you’ve met them, and Christine, who sends her regards, are also part of our little… _what is the word?_ ”

Jeremy chuckled and shook his head, “These are some of my best friends.” He said to Michael, meeting his eyes and smiling. 

Michael felt as though he were blushing, Jeremy’s smile was… Beautiful. Beautiful might not have been the right word, but it was the only one that Michael could use to describe such perfection and absolute pureness of heart that that smile gave away.

It spoke wonders of Jeremy’s entire personality, of his life, of his somehow stilted innocence. The crinkles at the corner of his eyes that showed only when he smiled genuinely.

Michael took a bite out of his sandwich, giving him an excuse not to talk. The rest of them spoke of Brooke and Chloe and Christine and work and Rich and Jake’s new apartment and _The World_ until-

“Did you enjoy your first day, Michael?” Jeremy nudged him.

Michael smiled and nodded, “It was quite nice. I enjoyed the interview.”

Rich smiled, “That’s good. Jake hates the place.”

“I don’t _hate_ it.”

Jeremy chuckled, “We are all aware that you don’t enjoy work.”

Jake sighed, “There is no way for me to win with you two.”

“And there never will be.” Rich added, looking at Jake for just a beat too long. 

Michael tilted his head, looking at them. He did not want to assume anything… But they seemed strangely close. Not physically at this moment, but their eyes seemed to come together continually, like magnets. Jake’s expression softened the moment he saw Rich, and Rich’s shoulders had relaxed the moment Jake had walked in.

Michael was sure he was imagining things, just as he always did. Simply passing his ungodly thoughts off on others would not change them, he knew, but he somehow always managed to look too closely into everything. He felt that all of his attempts to reach out to the living world were blocked sometimes. Like his feelings might always limit and distract and mentally alienate him from his fellow men.

“I was going to take Michael to meet Christine, would you two care to join us?”

Jake and Rich looked at each other, Rich nodded, Jake nodded back. “We would love to.” Rich smiled.

The couple sitting at the table had long since left, and the mid afternoon sun was bright in their eyes as Rich closed up the restaurant. They walked for a few blocks together, just walking, Rich still smoking his cigarette. Michael enjoyed this quite a lot. Walking, simply enjoying the company of others and yet still taking in the wonders of the city at almost-sunset.

When they had gone a few blocks, everyone halted outside of a small florist’s. 

“Is this Christine’s shop?” Michael asked, everyone simply nodded as they opened the door.

As they walked into the well lit, sweet smelling shop, a short, proper looking young lady stood up from behind the counter. 

“Well you bastards finally showed up.” She grinned. Walking out from behind the counter and stepping briskly towards them. She gave each of the men a tight hug in greeting, and nodded hello to Michael. “Who is this?” She smiled sweetly.

“Michael Mell.” Jeremy smiled as he introduced him. “He’s a new friend of mine.”

Michael nodded, confirming. Christine’s smile widened. “Well isn’t that grand.” She pushed past them, over to the door, and flipped the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed.’ “Why don’t we all have some tea in the apartment, then?”

They followed her up a narrow set of stairs and into the parlor of a well furnished apartment. “You all have a seat. I’ll be moving out soon, so please excuse the mess.”

Michael had barely noticed the papers spilling out over the coffee table, or the books in piles next to the bookshelves, or the rug rolled neatly up, leaning in the corner. He did not mind. Christine seemed to be a very kind and generous woman. Perhaps, though, he had trust in her because Jeremy did.

The group sat down in the parlor, Michael and Jeremy on a sofa and Rich and Jake in separate armchairs. They talked for a moment about politics before scrapping the discussion and sitting in silence.

Talking politics was not quite as enjoyable, Michael thought, when everyone agreed. After Christine had brought the tea, pouring everyone a cup and squeezing herself between Jeremy and Michael on the sofa

“So, you all, what brings you here on this fine day?” Christine asked, sipping her tea.

Jeremy cleared his throat. “Well, I decided that it was time Michael met you, as you are one of my closest friends, and Jake and Rich decided that they would like to come along with us, and here we are.”

Christine nodded, looking over to Rich and Jake. “You two are here simply to see me?”

They both nodded and Christine sighed before smiling. “I may be busy but of course my door is always open to friends. Though… I really hoped to have found someone to rent this shithole by now.”

Jeremy’s eyes widened, “That’s right! I forgot you were looking for someone to rent it out to. Michael is looking for a place to live here in the city, he’s been staying down at Ellie’s since he came up last week.”

Christine smiled, “Has he got enough money? I’d only charge four dollars a month for this place.”

Michael’s eyes widened. “You- really?”

“Of course, and if we are to be friends it would benefit me to have someone right upstairs to visit me while I’m working.”

Michael grinned, “Thank you so much, Christine. Really, you don’t know how much this means to me.”

Christine sipped her tea, giggling, “I think I do. I hope you feel welcome here.”

Michael nodded, “Of course I will.”

“I’ll be out of here by next week. I will assume you haven’t any furniture?”

Michael shook his head, embarrassed. 

Christine just smiled, “That will give Jerry an excuse to take you shopping, he loves it.”

Michael blushed, “I- I suppose. I am so grateful for the offer. I can make a payment as soon as you would like.”

“No, no, it’s alright. You need not pay me until you have moved in. I do need to call someone to repair the stove and the refrigerator, but after that it will be in perfect living condition. I had the walls re-insulated last month.”

And so, Michael had a place to live. A place that would become his home, in a way. He was glad, and he was happy, and he could not have hoped for better. Things really were looking up.


	4. Green Carnations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael moves into his new apartment and spends some quality time with Jeremy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this while listening to the Moonlight soundtrack and honestly,,,,yeah??? It's so nice,,,and mellow,,,,im in love,,,,,
> 
> also if you didn't know, my tumblr is @twinkjeremyheere!!! 
> 
> (warnings: internalized homophobia+thoughts and multiple abuse mentions)

_Tuesday, April 12, 1892_  
_So much has happened this past week, and though I have noted it in small entries I have not had enough time to properly sit and write even a page. I enjoy this time alone that I have with this pen in my hand, and this journal sitting in front of me, for introspection, for myself, and to benefit my greater intelligence and emotions._

_A week ago I was given a job at The World Co. Newspaper, and I have been writing every day since. I have learned that many people work on the weekends, specifically Saturday, to make the Sunday morning paper so dense. I have learned so much this last week, it would not be possible to write it all down, but my admiration and adoration for Jeremy Heere has not ceased, and I fear my emotions taking a turn. I have refused all sin before, and I will again. I shall not let temptation guide me. It is like mother used to say: it is better to beat the sin out than allow it to grow into something more. A shadow to consume my very soul._

_I will never become carried away and selfish with my emotions as I was with William, I will not force got to look down upon me as I strike shame into his heart. This I promise. To him, and to myself._  
_Until tomorrow,_  
_Michael Mell_

Michael placed his fountain pen carefully in his suitcase, making sure to wrap it in two socks so that it did not break. When he was finished packing his suitcase, he made his way back to his open journal, running a finger over the page to make sure that it was dry. It was, so he packed that as well. 

As he looked out the window of room 23 at Ellie’s, he smiled. It was a bittersweet smile. He had always known that this was not his _home_ but he had enjoyed his stay. He would always remember this place, of course he would, because it had opened it’s arms to him. It had been his first taste of the city, and his first bed in the city, and it had been so many _firsts_ , and now it was the last time he would ever see the view from that third story window again. It was sad, but it was happy. He was moving on. 

Michael left the room at ten o’clock, blowing a kiss to the window, and closing the door behind him with finality.

He checked out of the hotel and made his way down the street towards Christine’s shop. He smiled as the small bell above the door chimed. Christine glanced up from the book she had been reading behind the counter and grinned at him. 

“Turn the closed sign around, will you?” She said, motioning towards the door.

Michael turned around, confused for a moment before seeing the “Open” sign hanging in the door’s window. He flipped it over and turned back to Christine, smiling. 

Christine led him up the creaking stairs, and to the front door. When they made it to the apartment’s entryway, she smiled. “Welcome home.”

Michael was beyond words. He was _home_. Finally, he had found a place that he could truly call his own. It was small, and shabby, but it would be _his_. There was a fridge and running water and a propane stove, that was all he needed, really. 

Christine opened the door with a key from her pocket and they walked into the parlor. It was dusty and unfurnished, and the walls were completely bare, but there was sunlight filtering into the room and leaving panels of light across the floor. 

She showed him the bedroom and the kitchen, (the restroom was downstairs) and the bathroom. This place’s facilities were far nicer and much more modern than his parent’s farmhouse had been, and so he was grateful. 

“You still haven’t any furniture, I assume?” Christine smiled as she led the way into the small kitchen. 

Michael shook his head, “I have a bit of money though, and I’ve been working all week.”

Christine nodded, “I’ll tell Jeremy to take you out later today.”

Michael heard something in the way that she said it, a tilt in her voice, an insinuation that he dearly hoped she hadn’t meant. “I would like that.” He said, following her out of the kitchen and back into the parlor. 

“I said four dollars, did I not?” Christine asked, as though she had forgotten.

Michael nodded, digging in his pockets before taking out the coins. “There you go.” He smiled, that was one month. One month that he was guaranteed lodging here. 

Christine pocketed the coins and handed him the keys. “Why don’t you make yourself feel at home? I will be downstairs in the store if you need anything.”

Michael nodded, giddy. “Thank you again, Christine.”

“It’s nothing at all. You’re helping me keep the shop open.”

Michael bid her goodbye and latched the door behind her. He sat down on the hardwood floor, letting his breath out and attempting to bury his excitement. This was the first time he would have a space all to himself, for his own possessions and his own time. For him to eat and sleep and breathe and _live_.

Michael stood up and took his suitcase into the bedroom, placing it beside the door and looking around. The smell of the whole house was quite musty, and dust particles could be seen floating about in the sunbeams. He walked to the bedroom window and shoved it open, wincing at the loud squeak but smiling as the cool breeze hit his face. The sound of birds chirping from their perches on clotheslines was clearer, and the clopping of hooves from passing buggies could be heard above the wind. It was all so surreal. This apartment, this window, the view out across the street.

Perhaps Michael could buy Jeremy a flower to pin to his lapel from Christine. He would have to ask her opinion on what type he should buy, she would of course know much more of flowers than he did. 

Michael sat down on his bedroom floor, closing his eyes and letting the soft wind brush past him. The very air felt of velvet, and the floor, solid beneath his feet, was the only thing keeping him from flying away at that very moment.

He sat like that for a very long time, thinking, wondering, hoping. It was only an hour later that he finally opened his eyes, blinking at the sudden brightness, and stood up.

The room was smaller than he had thought it was originally, which was fine, the actual square footing of the house was not the point, it was all about functionality. It would suit him just fine, at least for the time being, and he could almost see a desk in the parlor with a small typewriter at it.

He had been thinking a lot lately about taking up novel writing when he wasn’t working. He had been writing non fiction for the papers, mostly, and he desired to control his own world, his own characters. Michael did not think, however, that he was brave enough to write a novel. Novels were deeply personal, showing sides of yourself that sometimes had been yet undiscovered within their pages. Michael was not sure that he had the power within him to write a novel, or anything of substance that wasn’t for the paper for that matter.

All Michael could think of was Jeremy, and how he might describe him in a book. Jeremy was a force of nature that he could not explain, an indescribable beauty. 

Michael sighed, shaking his head, not even noon and his thoughts had already wandered to _Jeremy._ How could they not, though? Jeremy consumed his waking (and dreaming) mind.

As Michael walked slowly around his apartment, he did not think about Jeremy. He did not daydream, or doze off as he lifted himself onto the kitchen counter and sat there, with his legs crossed and his arms folded.

He was so _tired_. A week of working in a (usually crowded and sometimes loud) real New York City writing room had taken it’s toll.

He had been introduced to three other writers, Jenna Rolan (the only other female reporter besides Nellie), Charles (who’s last name he had not found out yet), and Clarence Turner. Only Jenna had really spoken to him, and it was briefly. She seemed excited about an article she was writing, and had wandered off not long after saying hello.

There was a loud rapping at the door, someone knocking. Michael hopped swiftly off of the counter, his cheap shoes almost too loud on the floor. He made his way slowly to the door, tentatively unlatching the door, opening it, and peaking out.

“Michael!” 

It was Jeremy.

Michael grinned, opening the door. “Jeremy! Come in.” He gestured for Jeremy to come inside. 

Jeremy smiled as he entered, looking around and sighing, “It really does look different in here.”

Michael just chuckled, “It does. It looks much bigger, but at the same time it’s… Lonelier.”

“Huh.” Jeremy took a few steps inside. “When did you arrive?”

“Around ten fifteen, I’m very happy to be here. It’s all good and well to have a place for myself.”

Jeremy turned to him, smiling softly as their eyes met. “And I am happy for you.”

~~~

They exited the building after saying goodbye to Christine, and walked briskly down the road. Jeremy seemed to know his way to anywhere in the city.

“If you ever lost your job at the World, take comfort in the fact that you could easily become the most well informed cabbie in all of New York.” Michael said as Jeremy led the way closer to Times Square.

Jeremy feigned offense, “How dare you.” Michael chuckled. “I would make the best cabbie in all of the world.”

Michael laughed aloud at that, “I’m sure you would.”

“Perhaps I could make a spare dime as a paperboy.”

Michael chuckled, “You certainly look much too professional to be a paperboy.”

“Do I?”

“Indeed. Though… I don’t believe that that is the largest complement that you deserve.”

Jeremy laughed, “I do not deserve any compliments from a man such as yourself.”

“And what type of man might I be?” Michael asked, tilting his head.

“A good one.” Jeremy said, not softly, but Michael was sure that he had been the only one to hear.

They continued walking, passing by bookstores and restaurants, Jeremy looking up occasionally as a bird flew overhead. Michael admired the light blue of the sky, and the way that the clouds passed comfortingly over the city’s skyscrapers. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The city at springtime?” Jeremy said, hands in his pockets and hair pushed gently back by the breeze. 

Michael nodded, looking around. The city was loud, and the sounds of people yelling and bells clanging and bicycles and carts and horses and _all of it_ was _so much_. He loved it.

Soon, they had arrived at a large furniture store. “Here we are.” Jeremy nodded.

They spent hours at the shop, and yet all that Michael ended up buying was a couch and a bed frame, partially because he couldn’t afford anything more and partially because he didn’t need much else. 

They were both to be taken to his apartment the next day, (which Jeremy insisted on paying for) and soon they were back outside. Michael took a deep breath in, “It’s nice to be out in the fresh air again.”

Jeremy chuckled, “It was terribly stuffy in there.”

Michael looked up at the sky, which was terribly bright compared to the darkened corners of the large store. He squinted in the sunlight, “At the very least we have picked out some furniture.”

Michael saw Jeremy glance over at him in the corner of his eye. “At the very least…” He repeated, smiling, hands in his pockets again. “Are you hungry?”

Michael nodded, “Very much so.”

“This way.” Jeremy led the way quickly down the sidewalk, dodging around men and women and children alike. 

“Where are we-” Michael paused, catching up to Jeremy. “Where are we going?”

He noticed again the bounce in Jeremy’s step, the way that he moved as though every sound were a musical instrument. Grace seemed to be natural for him, with beauty being only an affected attribute. There was nothing about him that was unnatural or predetermined, he was completely his own, and Michael was amazed at how much he could tell about Jeremy from just _looking_ at him. 

Jeremy led them through the city until the skyscrapers had long gone, giving way for a neighborhood of small shops and large lawns and corner stores. Large estates could be seen, and the bay was close. As they stood at the top of a hill, about to walk down to the docks, Michael looked out at Ellis Island, thinking of the immigrants who had come to New York searching for a better life, who had seen that Island as a symbol of hope. He wondered how many had achieved what they had hoped to achieve. 

He found himself thinking, as they walked in silence down the cobbled road, looking at the light blue and pink beach houses, about Nellie. Michael hoped that she was alright. The sweet dog was old, and he feared greatly that his parents would not properly care for her. _Blazes._

“Are you alright?” Jeremy asked, clearly concerned. “Is something troubling you?”

“I-” Michael considered for a moment whether he should tell Jeremy about his past just yet. “You know I moved here from Georgia, yes?”

Jeremy nodded. 

“I- Well… I was under the rule of quite harsh… Parents.” He sighed, “I left behind my dog, my companion, Nellie. I fear that they haven’t cared for her, her health is dwindling in her old age.”

Jeremy nodded, sympathetic. “I do hope she’s alright.” He patted Michael’s shoulder, Michael could tell he was attempting to comfort him. 

Michael feigned a smile, hoping that he could ignore his emotions and have a nice time with Jeremy, after all, he did not want to spoil this new friendship that they had. 

“I’m sure she is perfectly fine.” Michael lied. 

Jeremy gave him a small smile, “Well… “

“Do not trouble yourself with it.” 

“I shan’t, you mustn’t worry.”

“I’m not worried-”

“We’re here.” Jeremy sighed with happiness, taking a deep breath. Michael did the same, the salty smell in the air was completely new to him. He had never been near a real dock before. The smell of fish and saltwater was almost overwhelming, and somehow he loved it. Jeremy pointed beside them. “Nakamura’s. Have you ever eaten sushi?”

Michael shook his head, “What… What is it?” 

Jeremy led the way in, the ceiling was tall and adorned with intricately carved golden trim. He asked for a table for two and they walked in silence behind the waiter as he led the way to their seats.

As they sat down, Michael looked around the room. Two other tables were occupied, one by an elderly couple, and the other by a group of young people in their mid twenties, two women and three men. The restaurant was quiet except for the faint conversations of the other two tables, and Michael took a moment to collect himself before looking across the table at Jeremy, who already had his eyes on the menu.

“So what _is_ sushi?”

“Fish, and… Other things. You’ll see soon enough.”

“I’m sure you did not mean for that to sound as ominous as it did.”

Jeremy laughed quietly, “No, I didn’t. It’s quite good, I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Michael shrugged, “Alright then.” There was a lull in the conversation as Jeremy handed Michael a menu. “I’m not quite sure what any of this is.” He admitted.

“I’ll order. No need to worry.” Jeremy assured him, smiling. He leaned his elbows on the table, “So tell me more about Georgia.”

Michael shook his head, smiling, “It’s nothing exciting. The exact opposite, really.”

“I doubt it.”

“Really… I was a farmhand.”

“Where were you employed?” Jeremy asked, folding his hands in his lap and looking at Michael. 

“On my parent’s farm, two miles away from Agget Valley.” Michael replied, running a hand through his hair nervously before continuing. “My parents are not intellectual in nature. Quite the opposite, really. My mother could not tell a comma from a question mark.”

“They do say that ignorance is bliss.” Jeremy smiled, “‘tis folly to be wise.”

“I suppose, but I would rather live a sad and educated life than a happy and uneducated one.” Michael said truthfully. “My mind is all that has kept me alive in this world, I would not soon give it up.”

“You could be a philosopher.” Jeremy said admiringly.

“I could never, for I only speak of myself and not of the experience of the masses.”

“Perhaps your own experience is enough.”

“And perhaps it is not.” Michael retorted with a playful smirk, “Who is to say that anyone has felt anything that I have.”

Jeremy just giggled, “You are an interesting man, Michael. I am glad to share your company,”

“I should certainly hope so.” Michael met his eyes, they both smiled. Michael looked down at his hands, flustered. “You are interesting as well. Reasonably speaking, you are the most intellectual man I have ever met.”

“That is… A compliment indeed.” Jeremy grinned.

Michael was lost in his _smile._ Plain and yet beautiful, simple and yet the most complex thing which he knew. That was the definition of Jeremy Heere. The smile which represented him so perfectly, the gentle grace which danced about his very existence, and the very muse for any and all of Michael’s future art. Irrational though it was, Michael could not conceivably exist in this city without Jeremy as his guide. His map. 

The man who had introduced him to the city, who had taken all that Michael had known and scattered it in pieces around the floor. His conscious had been invaded, and his life changed forever. All was due to Jeremy.

~~~

Michael enjoyed sushi. He enjoyed it a lot, in fact, it was the best thing he had eaten since his arrival in New York. Jeremy had teased him for his initial reaction of shock, but had not been relentless about it. He had been kind, and as they exited the restaurant he asked Michael if he might like taking a walk about the docks. Michael had happily agreed. So there they were, standing, leaning against the wooden fencing, staring out at the ocean and the setting sun.

The sky about them glowed pink and purple, behind them a dark blue. Around the sun was a ring of piercing golden light. Michael had admired the setting sun for a long while when his eyes traveled to Jeremy’s profile. The pink and yellow light striking his cheek made him appear even paler than he already was, and the soft sea breeze blowing from behind them, pushing their hair into their faces, ruffled his suit just so. He looked like a man who belonged in a work of art, and Michael almost wished that he was, that this moment might be preserved forever. 

Not even art lasts forever, he supposed, looking back at the sun’s reflection on the water. It had almost fully set now, and the darkening sky was almost daunting. 

“Shall we begin our walk back, then?” Michael asked, standing up straight and cracking his knuckles. “‘Tis almost nighttime.”

Jeremy simply sighed and nodded, taking one last look at the sunset and turning around.

They walked, footsteps in sync, up the dock and up the hill. When they had walked a fair way, Michael spoke up. 

“Do you have a mother?”

Jeremy shook his head, not replying with words. Michael did not push, or attempt to discover the answer himself. He swore that he would know Jeremy’s secrets when, and only when, Jeremy revealed them to him himself.

“I would like to pretend that I have no mother.” Michael admitted. “My mother is a horrible woman.”

“You have never told me the specifics of her horror, but I find myself trusting in you that you are telling the truth.” Jeremy admitted.

“She beat me.” Michael admitted, still keeping up with Jeremy’s brisk pace. 

Jeremy looked over at him, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be-”

Jeremy stopped walking, turning to Michael. He placed a hand on Michael’s wrist, holding it there, warm. “I’m _sorry._ ” He sighed, looking at the ground. “I just don’t… I don’t understand who could… Who could _hurt_ you.” He whispered, slowly letting go of Michael’s arm.

“I-” Michael shook his head, beginning to walk again, slower this time. “She was awful.” He chuckled, “It’s likely that every scar on my body is her doing.”

“What of your father, then? Was he the same?” Jeremy asked, concern in his voice.

“Oh no. He was too narcissistic. Thinks himself a big bug but really he’s just another snatch who thinks himself better than everyone else.”

“I know quite a few friends of my father’s who are the same.” Jeremy said, matching his slower walking pace. “These days everyone’s egos are far too big for their own good.”

Michael hummed in agreement, putting his hands in his pockets and sighing. “This world that we live in gives all people far too much hope.” 

“What does that mean?”

“Success is purely luck.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“What proof do you have of that?”

“Myself.” Michael laughed, “I had only just arrived in New York when I discovered an ad for the very newspaper where I wished to work. I was then hired _and_ I became acquainted with such a wonderful man as yourself. All purely luck.”

“Ah but it wasn’t. The only reason for my befriending you was the quality of your writing, and that is my only reason for hiring you.” Jeremy shook his head, “You think too little of yourself to recognize that you have a genuine talent.”

“I do not, sir.” Michael grinned, flattered.

“Oh, don’t begin that.” Jeremy nudged his arm, “Your personality marvels me.”

Michael looked up at the sky, the moon had appeared in the absence of the sun, which had fully set. “A full moon tonight.”

“‘Tis beautiful.” Jeremy noted, looking up at the partially clouded sky. “Look there.” He pointed up at one of the clouds, “the purple cloud.”

Michael looked up at it as they walked by a tall building of apartments, the cloud was a faint purple, still tinted by the sunset, it glowed in the otherwise painted blue sky. “I do wish that I had the power to create art.”

“You do, with your words.”

“I wish that I could create something that made people _feel_ something without having to say any words. A true art, an art that awakens people, is not the written word.”

“What is the Bible, then, a paperweight?”

Michael had no response, so they walked longer in the quiet of the twilight. The slow breeze began to pick up as they reached the center of the city. 

“Are you a religious man?” Jeremy asked as they passed by Ellie’s, Michael smiling at the large sign above the hotel’s dore.

“I-” Michael considered, “I believe in God, or… I believe in _some_ power higher than man, but I do not think that God needed to lay out each sin, for man himself, built in God’s image, should have better judgement.”

“We are of similar opinion, I think.” Jeremy sighed, “I- I just realized. Have you nowhere to sleep tonight?”

“I am perfectly alright sleeping on the floor of-”

“Stay with me.”

“Excuse me?”

“I have a perfectly nice couch in my apartment, it’s just six blocks from here.”

“If I am not imposing on you, I suppose.” Michael shrugged, following Jeremy as they changed paths, taking a right instead of a left.

“You are not, sincerely.”

“If it is no trouble at all, I shall, gladly, stay with you.”

Jeremy laughed, “I would not have invited you if it was any real trouble.”

Michael smiled, Jeremy was behaving as a true friend. Understanding and helpful, Michael did not think that Jeremy could look more wonderful in his eyes, and yet he did.

“Are you alright, Michael?” Jeremy asked, glancing over at Michael. He realized that his eyes had somewhat glossed over.

“Yes- Oh. Yes. I’m quite well. My- I have just…” He breathed out, “I have never had a friend so kind as you.”

Jeremy’s gaze softened. “Let us go.”

The slowly dropping temperature of the city, the light breeze, the faint glow of the moon reflecting on Jeremy’s pale skin. All of it. Michael felt like he was in a dream. They passed by a tall oak tree growing at a street corner. The rustling of the branches sent chills down Michael’s spine, and the shadow of the leaves left by the moon on the sidewalk made him smile. 

The dappled moonlight hitting Jeremy’s cheekbones, creating a regal aesthetic that Michael couldn’t tell if he was imagining. 

He took in a sharp breath, looking away from Jeremy and instead focusing on the path ahead. 

There was a commotion ahead of them, a large bar, lit with gas lights and glowing with yellow light. There was shouting and loud laughter coming from inside, and as they passed the open doors, Michael glanced inside.

They walked by quickly, but from the glance that Michael caught the bar was full of men and women who looked quite drunk already. A man was standing on a table, drunkenly exclaiming his love for America. 

Michael chuckled as they moved on, “He was quite enthusiastic, was he not?”

Jeremy laughed, “He simply wanted to show how much he loves our wonderful country.” There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

They continued walking until they were standing outside a ten story building, obviously quite a nice establishment.

“Here we are.” Jeremy smiled, leading the way inside and up the stairs. Michael followed, staying quiet and admiring the lavish stairways lined with paintings and windows. “First door.” Jeremy said quietly, once they had reached the second floor. There were two doors, one on the left of the landing and one on the right. “The left.” Jeremy clarified, taking a key out of his pocket and moving in front of Michael to unlock the door.

They entered the darkened apartment, and Michael blinked, attempting to clear his vision, until Jeremy flipped the lightswitch and the room was engulfed in a soft yellow glow. It was the living room. There were two couches, one facing out a large window at one side of the room. 

“If you do not wish to sleep on the couch, you may take my bed for the night.” Jeremy told him, removing his jacket and hanging it on the coat stand beside the door. “I really don’t mind.”

“I shan’t be taking your bed.” Michael laughed, “A couch will do just fine.”

“Alright then.”

Michael removed his coat and shoes, hanging his coat up and placing his shoes by the door. “You have a very nice place.”

Jeremy just smiled, walking towards a closet and taking out a pile of blankets and pillows to make up the couch in nighttime fashion. 

“Very modern.”

“Why thank you.” Jeremy tucked the corners of a quilt into the couch cushions. “The electricity was installed last month.” 

Michael yawned, “Might I get a glass of water?”

“Oh, yes!” Jeremy shook his head, smiling. “The glasses are in the cupboard beside the stove.” He pointed to the kitchen door. “The kitchen is that way.”

Michael closed his eyes as he entered the kitchen, taking a moment to collect himself before pouring himself a glass of water and drinking it quietly as he leaned against the kitchen counter. The day had been a long one, and despite enjoying Jeremy’s company quite a lot, even now, he was worn out. That, he supposed, was simply life.

~~~

Michael couldn’t sleep. He had been tossing and turning on Jeremy’s terribly comfortable couch for hours, and in the early hours of the morning he finally realized that he would not be able to sleep for a long time yet. He stood up quietly, as not to wake Jeremy who was peacefully sleeping in the next room, and looked around. There was not much in the room that he had not noticed. In the corner sat a desk with a typewriter, on the coffee table was a stack of magazines, but what he had not noticed was the vase of green carnations sitting on the corner table. How curious. Green carnations were not one of the most popular flowers, and they certainly were not very pretty. Somehow, though, in the moonlit room, they were the most beautiful flowers Michael had ever seen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait till y'all see what's comin next~~~


	5. The Soote Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael has been reminiscing far too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo!!!! If you didn't know, my tumblr is now @twinkjeremyheere, you can get tons of updates about fic over there n all that jazz. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: internalized homophobia, a 19th century anti homophobic slur, and a panic attack. Be safe

**The soote season, that bud and blome furth bringes,**   
**With grene hath clad the hill and eke the vale:**   
**The nightingale with fethers new she singes:**   
**The turtle to her make hath tolde her tale:**   
**Somer is come, for euery spray nowe springes,**   
**The hart hath hong his olde hed on the pale:**   
**The buck in brake his winter cote he flinges:**   
**The fishes flote with newe repaired scale:**   
**The adder all her sloughe awaye she slinges:**   
**The swift swalow pursueth the flyes smale:**   
**The busy bee her honye now she minges:**   
**Winter is worne that was the flowers bale:**   
**And thus I see among these pleasant thinges**   
**Eche care decayes, and yet my sorow springes.**   
**Henry Howard, 1557**

_Saturday, April 16, 1892_   
_My resolve to end the sinful thoughts which have floated through my conscience in the past weeks that I have been living in New York has failed completely, though out of my control. For who can control one’s dreams but God himself? Or perhaps these dreams of mine are the work of the devil, for why might God himself wish so badly for me to suffer in sin? I have been entertaining the idea that there is not even a God at all, only a devil and a lesser devil. Two evils: the sin itself, and denying myself it._

_Of course, I am talking of Jeremy. He has intruded my mind far too often, invading dreams which he has no place in. Last night, though, I dreamt of William again. It was a good dream, a reminiscent one, of the happy times which I shared with him. We were happy. I have had trouble remembering that we were. His memory is a bittersweet one, to me, and one that I should rather forget. Jeremy, though, all thoughts of Jeremy have been crystal clear. Perfectly formed, they speak to me in a dialect that I both understand and cannot accept. Will never accept._   
_I am trying to forget,_   
_Michael Mell_

Michael looked down at the journal resting in his lap, regretting the words that he had put there already. Should anyone ever find this journal, he could be incarcerated, or at the very least completely shunned by everyone. Specifically, though, he didn’t want _Jeremy_ to find it. For if his secrets were revealed to Jeremy, all that he had worked for would be lost. 

Michael stood up from his seat on his new couch, tossing his journal aside to let the ink dry and placing his fountain pen atop it. All of this thinking was complicating things far too much. He walked to the kitchen window, opening it. He dug through his pockets for a moment before finding a match and a cigarette, both in condition well enough to use. 

He struck the match against the cast iron stove, lighting the cigarette and taking a hesitant drag. Michael wished that Jeremy were with him. Over the past few days they had spent much time together. Jeremy had helped him in moving his things up into Christine’s old apartment ( _his_ apartment) and had stayed over for a considerable time afterwards. On Friday he had visited as well, bringing along with him a tall bottle of gin. Michael had poured it into the two mugs which Christine had given to him as a welcome gift, and they had stayed up far too late, far too drunk. 

Michael smiled at the memory, tapping the cigarette ashes onto the kitchen windowsill. He stood for a moment, admiring his reflection in the glassy pane, before opening the window and letting in the light spring breeze. The rustling of the tree across the street from Christine’s building interrupted his train of thought, and the noises from down below on the road became instantly more apparent. He could hear the squeaking of a large carriage before he could see it. For some reason, his hearing had always been amazingly good, he was hyper aware of the sounds around him. Michael poked his head out of the window, leaning his hands against the wooden windowsill. The rustling of the tree was louder from outside, and he found himself swinging his legs over the ledge, sitting down on the sill with his legs hanging down. He sat there for a while, back hunched over, heels gently tapping the building’s brick walls, cigarette in hand. The sun was beating down on him, but it was no competition for Georgia’s warm spring mornings, besides, the soft cool wind evened it out, rustling his coat jacket and disturbing his bow tie. 

The dust in the air which drifted up from the solomon and yet busy streets was thick and hot in his throat, he muffled a cough. He was thinking, sitting up there, not too high above the town below, about the future. For his job was going well, he was paid well enough to survive, and he now had a place of residence, but what of him? How might his ideas evolve, his opinions, his very way of thinking? 

Michael lit another cigarette. Perhaps thinking right now was simply too much.

The dream of William and school and the farm had been… Too much for him. It had interrupted his thoughts, and disrupted his balance and comfort in his new home. Where he had once been sure that he was the only one in his apartment, he found himself checking behind doorframes, in corners. The was the faint feeling of a ghost in his apartment, but he could not tell if it was a ghost that had been here for a very long time, or a ghost which he had brought in with him.

~~~

At noon, there was a knock at the door. Michael was not expecting anyone, so he cautiously stood up from his seat on the couch, where he was reading, to answer it. He glanced through a small crack in the door, catching a glimpse of black hair and a loose white dress. He opened the door.

“Christine!” Michael grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “How are you today, Miss?”

“I’m quite well, thank you, Michael. I am here to tell you of the gala tomorrow night.” Christine fiddled with a stray hair which had fallen from her intricately tied bun. “I have only just received word that Jeremy had invited you.”

Michael chuckled nervously, “This is the first that I have heard of any gala.” He admitted, “Jeremy did not say anything yesterday about it.”

“Yes, well, he _was_ quite drunk enough to forget some things yesterday.” Christine sighed, still smiling, “He asked me to tell you that he would be arriving at three to bring you out to buy a suit that will be fitting.”

“I have a-” Michael began, but stopped, seeing Christine raise her eyebrow. “Alright, I admit, my clothing is not material for the Vanderbilts.” 

“Indeed it is not.” Christine laughed, “It’s alright, he’ll fix you up with a nice suit.”

“I do hope he won’t insist on paying for it.”

“I think we’re both aware that he will.” She smiled, “Well, I do hope to see you soon? I will not be attending the gala but Miss Valentine and um… Her good friend Brooke will be there.”

“Ah yes. We’ve met. They work at the World.”

Christine smiled, “Of course.” She shook her head, “Well, I’ll leave you alone then.”

Michael smiled, “Goodbye, my friend.”

“I should hope to see you later today?”

“Of course.”

Michael closed the door, sighing. Tomorrow night. A gala. He frowned and walked to the kitchen, running a hand over the counter. He brushed some ash off of the counter, it fell helplessly to the floor. He should buy an ashtray, he supposed, at some point. Today was not the day he would buy one, and neither was the next. Michael would not own an ashtray for a long time.

He sighed, closing his eyes before leaning his elbows down on the counter. Letting his head sag for a moment, Michael allowed himself a few minutes of rest. He was _tired_.

Work. He hadn’t been going to work enough. He had written plenty, and was being paid enough to survive, but then again he was paying the cheapest rent imaginable, and he only shopped for himself. Michael wished to succeed at more than his own, measly goals. He wanted to be _known._ To be _recognized_. He felt that if he tried, he could do something truly amazing. The problem was, he did not know what he could do. And besides that, he hadn’t the motive to do anything. 

Michael’s stomach felt as if it were always sinking. Not with dread, or loneliness, or stress, but with simple lack of a want for existence. He was happy to be in New York, of course, but everything simply felt unattainable. He thought that this might be his limit. If he were too unmotivated to succeed at this relatively easy job, he would not be able to surpass it and move on to larger projects.

Nothing really mattered, though. Michael knew that nothing really mattered. A small voice in his head told him that his parents would find him somehow. Drag him back to his old life. The life which had dragged him down for so many years before. 

He remembered William. For the first time, he _really_ remembered William. His smile, and his voice, and his stature. Michael remembered his height perfectly, slightly shorter than him, dust blond hair and a lanky form. He almost smiled at the thought. He wished that he could remember Will only like that. Like the small boy who had read him Rimbaud in the shade after classes, who had rested his head in Michael’s lap, allowing him to weave flowers into his curly golden locks.

That boy, Michael knew, was a lie. Will would never be that boy. Michael liked to pretend that he was, though. The wonderful boy who he thought that he knew. He remembered the restless wind and the beating Georgia sun, and climbing the apple trees. He liked to forget the rest. The parts that weren’t so good. 

Michael huffed, straightening up and reaching into his pocket for another cigarette, it was resting in his lips when there was a knock at the door. _Jeremy_. Michael groaned and walked to the door, opening it, but smiling when he saw Jeremy’s face of absolute excitement. 

Jeremy looked wonderful. His suit expertly pressed, one of the green carnations from his vase clipped to his lapel. Michael smiled as Jeremy entered the apartment, “Welcome, Jeremy.”

Jeremy’s cheeks were flushed, seemingly with excitement. “Christine has told you, I presume?”

“Of the Gala? Yes,” Michael smiled, “Christine warned me that you planned on taking me out today.”

“Wonderful, wonderful.” Jeremy grinned, “I will be taking you out to buy a fitting suit. Have you any ideas?”

“Not particularly.” Michael closed the door, leaning against it and looking at Jeremy. “I, obviously, have not the slightest idea about fashion.” 

Jeremy chuckled, “Well, we will be able to fix that.”

 

They sat in the parlor for a while, talking of nothing in particular. When the conversation dipped, Michael considered telling Jeremy about William. Not…. _everything_ , of course. He would not tell of his relationship with Will, or of all that had happened. Just that he had been remembering someone far too frequently, that it was _bothering_ him. 

But he repressed the urge to share, Michael did not yet know if he wanted to admit aloud that he had been thinking as much as he was about someone who he no longer knew.

Jeremy told Michael about work, and about how his father’s health seemed to be improving, and about how he so hoped that Michael was enjoying his job. 

Michael was grateful, really, to speak of other things, but he also desperately wished to mention his past, for he realized how very little Jeremy knew about him, other than his parents.

It was alright though, they had plenty of time to learn about each other. Michael hoped that they would be the type of friends who had an indescribable closeness, who could predict each other’s mannerisms and reactions before they had even occurred, and who knew every detail of each other’s life. That was all that he hoped.

Michael pretended, at least, that that was all he hoped for with Jeremy. Unrealistic hope only brought unmet expectations, he rationalized. He should not hope for too much, lest he be badly let down. Besides, he did not deserve to care for Jeremy in _that_ way, or for… God forbid… for Jeremy to care for _him_.

~~~

The sunny sky had given way to clouds, but the wind was strangely warm, Jeremy was walking close by his side, their arms and knuckles brushing just barely. Michaels stomach flipped as Jeremy leaned over to nudge him, showing him rather than telling him to turn left. They did, onto Broadway at the corner of Broadway and 6th.

“We’re almost there.” Jeremy murmured softly to himself, Michael smiled. 

Jeremy’s whisper was endearingly gravelly. Rough, and yet comforting. An oxymoron, perhaps, but that was Jeremy. 

“Where are we going?”

“Jenna’s, of course.”

Michael had heard the name Jenna in conversation, but he had never known her personally. He had assumed that she worked at the World. He voiced his confusion.

“Oh, yes, she submits articles. Sometimes she visits the writing room, but only for inspiration.” Jeremy smiled as he stopped outside of a small shop. There was a large display window outside, advertizing a collection of dresses and coats and suits, Michael smiled at the subtle matching of colors. 

“Well I am sure we shall find something suitable here.” Michael joked, chuckling. 

“Was that a-” Jeremy laughed as he opened the store’s door. “That was _awful_ , Michael.” 

Michael patted his shoulder, still chuckling under his breath but quieting as they entered the store in respect of the general rules of politeness. 

“I’m sorry, Jeremy.” Michael said, still smiling and looked around. The shop smelled of fabric and lavender, soft and sweet but with a bitter tint. Jeremy looked towards the back of the shop, eyes finally landing on the woman behind the counter.

She was short and slightly chubby, very pretty in a delicate way. She smiled at Jeremy, revealing dimples, and Michael couldn’t help but smile back.

Jenna waved him over. “ _Jeremy_ , my friend! I haven’t seen you in so long! I must tell you of my trip to California.”

“Oh you must! At present, though, I am rather occupied.” Michael saw Jeremy not towards him through the corner of his eye. “This is my friend. Mister Michael Mell, he’s a writer at the World.”

“Oh!” Jenna smiled at Michael, shaking his hand. “Hello, Mister Mell. Or is Michael all right? My name is Jeniffer Rolan, but you can call me Jenna.”

“Michael is fine, ma’am.” Michael nodded his head at her.

“Michael it shall be, then. What are you two looking for today?”

“I require a suit. ‘Tis for a gala tomorrow night.” He said, Jenna smiled.

“I have plenty of men’s suits in the latest fashions, of course, I can take your measurements and have one finished and at your door by tomorrow morning?”

“That will be quite alright.” Jeremy answered for him. “Thank you, Jenna, really.”

“I can not thank you enough, Miss Rolan.” Michael said honestly, “It does mean a lot, I would not like to attend a gala such as this improperly dressed.”

“‘Tis my pleasure to assist friends of Mr Heere, Michael. And please, call me Jenna.”

“Of course.”

Jenna led them to a small stool where Michael stood as his measurements were taken. As she measured his waist, they made small talk. 

“You’re quite a nice young man to be friends with the likes of Jeremy.” Jenna teased.

Jeremy mocked offense from his stance, leaning on the back wall and watching them.

Michael simply scoffed, “I am not so nice myself.” 

“If you do say so.” Jenna laughed, “but you seem nothing but sweet.”

“Thank you, as do you, my friend.”

Jenna smiled, and they lapsed into comfortable silence. When the measurements had been taken, they talked for a while more until a group of women arrived to be fitted for dresses. 

As they were walking down the street on their way home, Jeremy spoke directly to Michael for the first time since they had been at Michael’s apartment.

“You seem awfully thoughtful today.” 

Michael blushed, “I suppose.”

“Are you homesick?”

Michael scoffed, “For what reason would I be?”

“Your dog?”

_Nellie_. “Oh, well… Yes, I do miss her. Of course, but that is… Not exactly what has been troubling me.”

“Why, what is it?” Jeremy asked, furrowing his brow. “You haven’t told me of anything else that you might miss.”

“Oh, no! I am not thinking of what I might miss… I have just been remembering someone.”

Silence, and then: “A lover?”

Michael stayed quiet. How should he respond? He could not tell Jeremy the truth, that was far too personal, and he did not feel the need to confide in Jeremy about his past at this moment. 

“Of sorts. Not… Exactly. Simply someone I knew. An old friend.” 

“Ah, I understand. Were you close to this friend?”

“Yes, quite. I had… Forgotten about him. Something must have intruded my mind that brought him back.”

_Green carnations, perhaps._

Michael sighed, placing his hands in his pockets and shaking his head. “It is all in the past, now, though. We need not speak much of him now.”

“Alright.” Jeremy sighed, smiling and looking up at the sky. “It is a nice day, isn’t it. Despite the clouds.”

“Indeed.” Michael glanced up, squinting, the sun was bright even through the clouds. “I should go down to work today.”

“It is alright if you don’t.”

“I would like to, really.”

“I would be honored to escort you.”

“That would be quite alright with me.” Michael laughed, “You are such a proper gentleman sometimes.”

“I cannot help it.” Jeremy laughed with him, Michael loved his laugh. It sounded, to him, like music. The type of music that sends chills through people’s very bones, the type of music that moves people, that inspires, that makes way for revolution. Jeremy’s laugh. Strong and yet soft. As much of an oxymoron as the rest of him.

Michael shook his head, “Which way.” 

“A right at the next intersection.”

~~~

Michael arrived at his apartment after work completely exhausted. He had the strange feeling that he had been very productive, but he could barely remember what he had even written that day. Some murder, body found on the beach, but that’s all he could recall of the countless facts of the case that he had learned.

He collapsed onto his bed, closing his eyes. He had barely loosened his tie when he fell asleep, and the next day when he awoke, his hair was stiff and his coat was wrapped uncomfortably around his arms. Michael sat up quickly, adjusting his coat and rubbing his eyes. The bright light filtering through his bedroom window almost blinded him as he opened them again, and he turned away from the sun, eyes slightly watering. 

The apartment was stuffy and hot that morning, he was not quite sure why, as last night had not been the least bit humid or warm. He took off his coat, hanging it at the foot of his bed and walking slowly to the kitchen and running the faucet for a few moments to let the dirty water which had accumulated overnight run out. That was one of the downsides of living in the city, dirty water. When the water ran clear, he poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, still almost half asleep, and barely even comprehending the cold water, but feeling it moving through his body.

It energized him, slightly at least, and the sinking dread of the gala hanging above him was swept away for a moment in favor of a focus on the refreshing water. Michael felt much more awake as he tapped his foot, deciding what to make for breakfast. He decided that eggs would do nicely, but as he began to collect the few fixins, there was a knock at the door.

Michael ran a hand through his hair, attempting to untangle it as quickly as possible, and winced as he snagged a small knot which had formed in the night. He opted to comb his hair after the guest had left. After all, what did people expect when arriving early in the morning. Or -Michael checked his pocket watch- early in the afternoon.

He walked slowly to the door, pressing his face close to one of the cracks and attempting to see who was outside. He couldn’t quite tell, but he very much hoped that it was who he thought it was.

Michael opened the door to see a smiling Jeremy holding a cardboard box. 

“Jeremy! Good… Afternoon, I suppose.”

“Michael, you look…” Jeremy chuckled, “You look well. Did you sleep alright?”

“I had only just woken up, in fact.”

“Ah, my apologies.”

“No! No- I-” Michael sighed, “I always enjoy your company.”

“You-” Jeremy smiled as he entered the apartment, tucking the box under his arm. “You do?”

“Why of course.” Michael snorted, “You’re a wonderful man, really.”

“I am not anything special.” Jeremy said, looking down at his feet as Michael closed the door. 

“Well, in my eyes you are.”

Jeremy continued to examine his feet, smiling, before seeming to remember the box. “Your suit! Jenna finished it just this morning, she’s writing a wonderful editorial for our gossip column, too. Apparently one of the Vanderbilts was seen outside of the Baymore In last night. I don’t know where she finds any of this information.”

Michael took the box, holding it in one arm as he opened it. “It’s- oh my goodness, it’s wonderful.” It was black and fashionable with a small handkerchief tucked into the breast pocket. He wondered how much it had been. He would be sure to pay Jeremy back at least fifteen dollars for it. “I should be sure to pay you back.”

“Oh there is no need-”

“I _will_ be paying you back.” Michael insisted. “When shall we leave for the gala then?”

“As soon as you are ready we will take a carriage to Chloe and Brooke’s home, it is but five minutes away.”

Michael nodded, “Let me brush my teeth and I should be ready to leave, or shall I put my suit on before we go?”

“Dress before we leave. The gala does not start until six but we should like to be there slightly early. Miss Valentine will be able to help you with your hair.”

“My-” Michael ran a hand through his hair, laughing. “Indeed, it does not look the best today.”

“It’s quite alright. Hurry now, and dress, the carriage is waiting.”

Michael nodded, hurrying to his bedroom. His fingers tripped over the buttons of the shirt he was wearing, he was still tired. Once he had put on all but the suit jacket, he walked to the window, attempting to catch a glimpse of his reflection. He could just barely see his silhouette. 

He carefully put on the suit jacket, admiring the silk lining. It was cool to the touch, and he smiled as he buttoned it. This was probably the nicest thing he had ever worn, and he vowed to take care of it. 

He exited his room after running a toothbrush quickly over his teeth, there was not much else he could do quickly, and running his hand through his hair a with a comb a few more times.

Michael exited, greeting Jeremy again.

Jeremy’s eyes widened as Michael came out, “You look wonderful.” He smiled, “Honestly, you do.”

“Why…” Michael blushed, “Why thank you.”

“Let us go, then? Miss Valentine _really_ will have to do something about your hair.”

Michael laughed. “Let us go.”

~~~

Jeremy offered his arm to help Michael as he stepped out of the carriage. Michael accepted taking hold of Jeremy’s wrist for a brief second as he hopped out of the car. They were standing outside of a tall, two story town house, owned, apparently, by Chloe and Brooke.

The modern house was a soft light pink with white trim, and outside on the porch there sat a strawberry plant in a handwoven basket. Every clue pointed to it being a family home, but it was simply a home of two friends.

Jeremy thanked the driver and paid him as Michael walked up the carefully cobbled walkway towards the porch stairs. On the porch step, low, near to the grass, a small heart had been carved into the paint. Michael smiled.

When Jeremy jogged up to him, Michael mentioned how homely the house looked. 

“They’re… quite close, you might say.” Jeremy smiled, hands in his waistcoat pockets and head tilted down to shield his eyes from the sun. When they made it to the top of the porch, Michael was the one to knock.

Brooke answered the door a few minutes later, wearing a casual dress and an apron covered in flour. She opened the screen door, smiling and welcoming them in. 

“Hello then, boys!” She wiped her hands daintily on her apron, “Come in, please.” 

Brooke closed the door behind them and Michael looked around. The house was beautiful, inside and out. Polished floors, family portraits, thick curtains, everything expected in a financial family home. 

“Chlo?” Brooke called up the stairs, “Our guests are here!”

Michael smiled, what a nice friendship they had. Living together, cooking for each other. A platonic marriage of sorts. He chuckled, he had projected his sinful thoughts onto Rich and Jake and now onto Chloe and Brooke. He needed to evaluate the situation further and stop jumping to conclusions.

“Let us go to the kitchen while we wait, then?” Brooke suggested, “I’ve been cooking all day only to make one measly pie.”

“I’m sure it will be amazing, as your pies always are.” Jeremy grinned as they walked into the kitchen. He sat down at a table by the window outlooking the quiet streets. 

Brooke just smiled, walking over to the oven. “Please, Michael, sit down. Chloe will be a moment but then you may use our bathroom to do your hair.”

“It’s that bad?” Michael laughed as he sat down across from Jeremy at the small table by the window. “Jeremy made several comments on it earlier.”

“Well…” Brooke trailed off as she opened the oven door, sliding the pie out onto a cutting board. “It certainly could be better.” She slid her oven gloves off. “Give me a moment.” She walked out of the kitchen, heels clicking on the tile as she left. Michael heard a muffled. “Chloe! It’s almost time to leave!” Before footsteps began down the stairs. 

Michael looked outside, he could hear birds chirping in the cherry tree growing in the very corner of their front yard. This was the type of home he would like to own someday. The perfect place for writing, relaxing, and _living_. The home was fanciful, and yet lived in. It was all that could be used to describe the perfect modern home. 

The kitchen smelled of apples and cinnamon, and as Michael looked over at Jeremy, he smiled.

Jeremy’s face always looked as if it belonged in a painting, but at that moment, with his eyes gently closed, head leaned back to rest on the light blue kitchen wall, and dappled sunlight shining through the cherry tree’s leaves and onto his face, he looked more beautiful than Michael had ever seen him before.

Michael did not think about William sitting under the pear tree, or about that day, because he didn’t need Will anymore. Though Jeremy was not to him as Will had been, he was close, and he was enough. He was, perhaps, a closer friend than Will had been a lover. 

When Chloe arrived downstairs with Brooke, she smiled and greeted them both kindly. She was much nicer than she had always been at work, at least. They made small talk for a few minutes before Jeremy mentioned Michael’s hair. Chloe ran her hand through it a few times, somehow shaping it in that time and making it look neat and proper. 

Jeremy said that he looked gentlemanly, Michael blushed. Soon enough, Chloe and Brooke had changed into two wonderful party dresses, and they were back in a cab on the way to the gala after having eaten some truly exquisite pie.

~~~

They arrived outside of a tall chapel like building, though it was clearly not a chapel. The sound of quickly paced instrumentals coming from the inside were far too modern for any church. The sound of _After The Ball_ could be heard, probably played by some local New York orchestra. Michael smiled. It was a familiar tune, in fact, the same thing had been playing at the last party he had been to.

As they all hopped out of the carriage, Chloe and Brooke careful not to let the hems of their dresses touch the dirty New York streets, Michael admired Jeremy for a moment, as he hadn’t enough that day. His suit was perfectly tailored, and again, pinned to his lapel was a green carnation, glowing bright under the almost-setting sun. He smiled. It was a nice touch. Jeremy’s gray waistcoat hugged his torso tight, and red bow tie standing out against his white button down shirt. It was a nice look on Jeremy, though Michael did not think that there was a single thing that _wasn’t_ a nice look for Jeremy, the sentiment was not taken away. He could appreciate the fine looks of another, of course, without thinking about himself.

“This place is quite nice.” Chloe said, smiling and holding her dress a few inches above the ground to avoid the dust. 

“It is.” Brooke smiled, looking up at the tall brick building and then at Chloe, her own, looser yellow dress billowing behind her in the breeze. Michael smiled. It was a wonderful sight, friends. Especially at this time of day.

The light strangely reminded him of Will’s dusty blonde hair, of his smile, his lips-

_No._ Michael shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment and focusing on walking with Brooke, Chloe, and Jeremy towards the door to the building. 

They entered the building, and it seemed to be the very definition of a class which he had not known of until now. Lavish golden ornaments adorned the tables, and finely painted matching China at every seat. Past the tables was a hardwood ballroom dance floor, where men and women were dancing in unison to the ending notes of After The Ball. They clapped through gloved hands as it ended, and Michael smiled. It was a very nice party, clearly. He felt… Below these people, somehow. As though he was keeping some terrible secret from them. The more he thought about it, though, he was.

Chloe laughed at something that Brooke had said, and Michael stopped thinking about the past for a moment, looking over at Jeremy and admiring the present for once. The bright electric lights of the ballroom, and the low hanging and yet unlit chandeliers, they all added to the overall aesthetic and mood. Michael felt as though he was within the high society.

The chatter got louder as the music quickened, and many people milled around, laughing women with veils low over their noses and champagne flutes in their hands seemed to fill the room, paired with men who wore tuxedos far more expensive seeming than the suit which Michael had bought. 

He nudged Jeremy’s arm. “What are we to do, then?”

Jeremy shrugged, “Whatever you please. If you wish, you may stay by my side, I do know my way around. It is urgent that I speak to Mr. Paulee about a possible business opportunity, we have plenty of time for that.” He smiled softly. “No need to fret.”

“I’m not.”

Jeremy chuckled, “Alright.”

Michael folded his hands, running his nails over his knuckles and sighing. The noise of this party was reminding him far too much of the past. The loud chatter and the laughing and the music and the- _shit_. The _feelings_.

He remembered the leap in his chest every time Will turned towards him, and his soft smile as their hands had twined together, and he flinched because he realized that everything he was feeling now for Jeremy was not simply friendly but truly love. Some variation of love, really, for he had not known Jeremy long enough to _love_ him.

Everything felt louder suddenly, as this realization sprung upon him. He felt as though the ceiling was about to come crashing down on them. He moved his arm out of the way of Jeremy’s touch, frantically looking around.

His breathing had quickened, but he could not tell how to calm it, and Chloe was speaking very loudly about how wonderful all of the women’s dresses were but he was having trouble understanding her words as they warped in his head. Michael looked down, noticing that his nails had been digging so far into his hand that deep red marks had been left.

He saw Jeremy look over to him in the corner of his eye, “Are you alright, Michael.”

Michael was not sure how to reply so he closed his eyes and shook his head. He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t okay. It was all too familiar and yet unfamiliar. All he could do was remember, and he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to _think_ anymore. 

William. _William. **William.**_

_”Fucking sodomite.”_

And suddenly, without warning, Jeremy was taking his wrist gently in his hand and leading him through the crowd. Michael followed without hesitation, allowing himself to be tugged through the maze of dresses and suits and waiters. He heard Brooke call after them, but Jeremy simply waved to her over the crowd. 

They walked out the back door, and the cold evening air hit Michael like a wall. He took a deep breath, Jeremy’s hand was still on his wrist. Michael looked at his feet.

“Are you okay, Michael?” Jeremy pulled him closer, leaning his head down to see Michael’s face. “What… What happened? Are you crying?”

Michael looked up again, meeting Jeremy’s eyes. _Was_ he crying? He felt a lump in his throat. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Michael backed into the wall of the building, pulling his wrist from Jeremy’s grasp and sitting down on the ground. “I’m sorry about… About everything.” He sniffed, wiping what tears there were away from his face. 

Jeremy sat down beside him. “There is nothing to be sorry for.” He sighed, “I- Would you like a hug?”

Michael turned to face Jeremy, sniffing again. He nodded, and Jeremy wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. They sat that way for what felt like an eternity, with Michael’s face buried in Jeremy’s coat, a hand clutching his lapel, and the other at Jeremy’s waist. He could stay like that forever, he thought. And he wished he could, but eventually he pulled away, and he stood up, and they went back to the party.

Michael wished that he could go back, but he couldn’t.


	6. Walt Whitman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Michael could not imagine a time that he had not known Jeremy. Though he knew that they had been just a few weeks ago, he could not imagine not knowing Jeremy’s laugh. He could not imagine a world in which he could not imagine the slenderness of Jeremy’s fingers, and how they might feel against his own. He did not want to imagine a world in which he did not think of Jeremy’s hair running through his fingers, of his lips brushing against Michael’s cheek._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND HERE IT IS  
> after a LITTLE bit of procrastinating and a ton of other stuff, _finally_ here is chapter 6.
> 
> Additionally, there was some awesome art for last week's chapter!!!!!
> 
> [This Michael](http://twinkjeremyheere.tumblr.com/post/161416827190/swerikanart-twinkjeremyheere-oh-my-god-its) by swerikanart which is absolutely adorable, I love it sosososo much :D
> 
> [This adorable Jeremy and Michael](http://twinkjeremyheere.tumblr.com/post/161451061635/hersheyheathers-twinkjeremyheere-not-to-be) drawing by hershyheathers!!! It's legit...So cute omg
> 
> And of course [THIS](http://twinkjeremyheere.tumblr.com/post/161179350635/genderfluidevan-the-living-city-moodboard-so) wonderful moodboard by genderfluidevan which is super pretty and just...Yes...
> 
> If you do make+post art and you @ mention my tumblr, I might not get the notification!!! If I don't, send me an ask or a PM with a note saying that it exists and I will DEFINITELY reblog it since I live for y'all's art (/other inspired works, I have not yet seen a playlist ;;;)) )
> 
> My tumblr is, of course, twinkjeremyheere!!! Enjoy!!!!!

_Tuesday, April 19, 1892_  
_I awoke this morning in a cold sweat, and though I feared at first that I had contracted a fever, it was clear that it had simply been a humid night. My birthday, on the 30th of April, is rapidly approaching, and though I have not celebrated in years, I thought that perhaps I would buy myself a desert from the bakery down the street, just in celebration of making my way in this city for as long as I have._

_My debut as a New York bachelor did not go as I might have hoped. Jeremy took me to a gala last night as a wonderful introduction to the city and all of it’s people, and yet I managed to remember far too much of my past life. My past sins have come upon us, and are haunting me now, threatening the very possibility of future mistakes. I shall not make a move further upon Jeremy, he is not to be tainted by my own transgression, for he has done nothing to deserve penance for my crimes._  
_I wish these feelings would leave me be, _  
_Michael Mell___

__Michael finished the quick scribbling in his journal, looking around at his desk. He really should be working on the assignments he had been given that morning, but he was not having a pleasant day at work. The clicking of the newsroom’s many typewriters, the smoke (which he usually enjoyed the scent of), and the low chatting of Chloe and Jake in the corner was becoming distracting, and his headache was worsening._ _

__He had been writing for two hours in the dim light of the writing room, and however hard he might try he could not write anything that he was happy with. He slid his journal into his bag, pocketing his quill. Michael really just needed some time alone. He had been thinking far too much about the gala._ _

__Eventually he stood up, putting on his coat and hat and slinging his bag over his shoulder. If he was not going to be productive, he might as well go home, or at least have something to eat. He had not had breakfast that day, and perhaps it was adding to his unfocused nature._ _

__“Going home so soon?” Chloe asked, looking up from her quickly moving keys and halting her conversation for a moment._ _

__“Indeed, I feel no need to stay at present. I will work at home and bring in my article tonight before the evening edition is printed.”_ _

__Chloe nodded as Michael made his way to the door._ _

__“One moment,” Chloe stopped him before he could leave. “Do you have a match?”_ _

__Michael nodded, turning around and reaching into his pocket, finding a matchbox. He tossed the whole box over to her desk, she caught it gracefully, smiling._ _

__“Thanks mister. Have a good day, yeah? If you see Jerry tell him I say hello.” She smiled at him, a fond smile. They ad been slowly getting to know each other better, and hers was a friendship that Michael quite enjoyed._ _

__Michael smiled back at her, nodding and pushing open the heavy writing room door. “I’ll be sure to.” He walked into the cold stairway and shivered. The temperature was always so much lower in the hall than it was in the strangely warm and yet airy writing room._ _

__He closed his eyes, rubbing his hands over his face as though they would somehow wash away his headache. They didn’t, of course, and the dull pounding in his head did not lessen. Michael took a deep breath and started down the stairwell, sighing as he quickly made his way out of the building, barely bidding Brooke farewell before he was outside on the street._ _

__It was a sunny day, and in the fresh cool air it was easier to think. As he allowed the cool air to freshen his mood, he felt more lively, and if not for the headache, he might have simply gone back to work._ _

__But as it was, he decided to enjoy the city at midday. Perhaps he would go shopping, there were still many things he needed for his apartment. Decorations were everything at the moment, and he needed at the very least a typewriter and if he had enough money, he should like a phonograph. He was bored easily, and perhaps having a way to enjoy music in his home would help to distract him._ _

__Michael took a deep breath, eyeing the shops that lined the busy streets. The yelling of a newsboy on the street corner broke him out of his brief trance, and he attempted to focus again, but could not, aimlessly wandering the bustling streets for a few minutes before coming to a stop outside of Ellie’s._ _

__He looked up at the five story hotel, the large sign advertising it’s “Authentic New York Cuisine” and “Affordable Housing”._ _

__Michael grinned, thinking of his first week in New York once again. He thought about Aunt Bridget’s Baby, and Jeremy Heere, and how when he had felt as though he had soared as high as the sky could take him, Jeremy had taken him higher._ _

__He stood outside for a few moments, admiring the view, hesitating, and then walking through the door. The airy restaurant was comforting, reminding him of some of the diners back in Georgia. He smiled as he walked, weaving through the tables, towards the bar. He sat down._ _

__Rich was cooking at the stove, his back turned, but he glanced up as Michael sat._ _

__“Michael!” Rich grinned, “I haven’t seen you for quite some time!”_ _

__“Oh, not too long.” Michael chuckled, “I missed this place, I guess my feet just carried me here.”_ _

__“That’s funny.” Rich nodded, turning around and lifting the sandwich on the grill onto a plate. “I was just thinking about you. Jeremy speaks of you every _day_.”_ _

__Michael blushed, folding his arms and leaning them on the counter as he looked at the menu. “Does he?”_ _

__“Indeed.” Rich laughed, making his way out from behind the counter. “Every time I see him.”_ _

__Michael laughed, as Rich carried the plate over to a booth by the window. Michael looked around. The slowly turning fans above them created a small but blissful air current, and though the room was pleasantly warm, it was not stuffy or overheated. It was comfortable._ _

__Rich assumed his place behind the counter. “What can I get for you today then?”_ _

__“A chicken club sandwich, thank you.”_ _

__“Quick as a wink.” Rich laughed._ _

__Michael smiled. Rich was such an easy person to talk to. His chatter was punctuated with giggles, and he was the type of person who one might divulge their deepest secrets without worry of betrayal. He was kind. A friend._ _

__As Rich cooked, Michael debated about whether or not to _tell_ him about Will. Or maybe about Jeremy. He was not quite sure yet, and he did not think that he would be until he said _something_._ _

__He decided against it, at least for the moment. He should not be burdening others with his own issues and times of ungodliness. It was his to bear. His weight. Sometimes, Michael felt as though he were wading through sand, sinking quickly and yet still attempting to run. Making his way through a desert although he had long since been drained of all blood or dignity, he felt as if his natural resources were not enough. As though he simply could not go on anymore._ _

__“Tomatos?”_ _

__Rich’s simple question broke Michael out of his second thoughtful trance of the day._ _

__“Oh, yes, please.” Michael smiled politely, mood having been brought significantly down by his own thoughts. It was simply one of those days. Michael did not alway have the best days. He found himself low in energy and motivation, and slept often, and sometimes he thought about seeing a psychiatrist about it. That is until he comforted himself in the thought that everyone has a day or two when they simply cannot do their work._ _

__Rich gave him his sandwich, and for a moment he sat before it in silence. That is until Rich pushed it towards him, nudging his arm with the plate._ _

__“Thank you.”_ _

__“Of course, of course. Lunch for a friend. My pleasure.” Rich’s warm smile made Michael feel better, if only a little bit._ _

__He ate in silence for a moment, barely able to restrain his fleeting mind, but able to keep himself from dwelling on the gala. He was embarrassed, of course, he felt much less dignified in Jeremy’s presence now than he had before, but it was alright. He knew that it would soon be behind them both._ _

__There was a voice from the room past the kitchen, and Rich looked over at Michael, giving him a wink before wiping his hands on his trousers and walking through the swinging door and out of sight. There was a muffled laugh and then a clatter as if pots and pans were being moved around._ _

__He wondered who it was._ _

__A girl, perhaps, that Rich was courting? If so this felt almost intrusive. He finished his sandwich quickly, leaving the crusts and a piece of lettuce behind on the plate, and left a cent on the counter in payment._ _

__He looked around the restaurant. No one else seemed to have noticed that Rich had left, so he politely stood up, adjusting his jacket, and walked slowly out. The heavy bag on his shoulder was weighing him down again. Not the actual weight of it, of course, but his journal was inside that bag._ _

__If anyone were to read it, he could be arrested. He needed to keep the journal at home more often. It was not safe to carry such an incriminating item around with him._ _

__He walked out of the restaurant, letting the door fall closed behind him as he squinted in the sun. It was a bright day, opposing the previously cloudy morning, and he smiled in the seemingly new day._ _

__With his headache gone, and a new sense of strangely baseless purpose, there was an added bounce to his step. He walked down streets, getting lost in the most beautiful of ways. Though, he could find his way back to the apartment easily enough with the numbered streets, he wanted to believe that he was losing himself in the loud and unpredictable streets, going somewhere he had never thought to go before._ _

__He walked for what felt like hours. The pocketwatch in his pocket stated that it had been only thirty minutes, but it felt like hours. He had given a nice man alone on the street corner a few cents for a few meals, and had almost gone into countless shops, before wandering down the quietest street he had gone down thus far._ _

__The sounds of the city drowned out on this dead silent Avenue. The sunny streets were lined with shops and bars and restaurants, all with nice apartments above them housing plants and clotheslines from window to window, but it was almost completely silent. Though a few people wandered the dirt ave, and an open buggy drawn by a tired looking horse were clopping slowly down it, it seemed...asleep._ _

__Michael stopped outside of a bookstore. Painted over the dusty window was a worn title: _Cropp and Son Books_. He smiled. The small store reminded him of the stores in his hometown. Small and shabby. Empty. Almost surreal, was an empty book shop. _ _

__He hesitated for a moment before walking in. There was a gentle ding from a bell on the door as he did, and the soft smell of books mixed with a hint of moist dirt met his nose. He looked around to see shelves and shelves of books. Above and around the bookshelves, stacked on tables, in the windowsills, on the counter where the cashier sat, were potted plants. He grinned to himself. He very much liked this place._ _

__Through the window filtered the golden afternoon sun, and as the store worker greeted him and left him to look around, he was finally, for the first time that day, happy._ _

__The small leatherbound books displayed on the shelves were soft to the touch, and he found himself running his fingers over their titles as he walked. There was nothing, he did not think, that was as peaceful as this. He finally found something that he had some interest in._ _

__Michael let his fingertips brush over the dark ink of the title he had chosen as he slid it off of the shelf._ _

___November Boughs_ by Walt Whitman. He smiled. Walt Whitman._ _

__Will used to say that all of the sodomites in the west read Whitman. That it was kind of… a confirmation of their sexual goals._ _

__He considered the price for a moment before walking to the man behind the counter and placing the book gently down._ _

__The man at the counter looked at the title and up at Michael, a small smile playing on his lips as he opened the front cover to find the price._ _

__“Five cents, please.” He opened his palm for Michael to pay._ _

__Michael took the last coins of his weekly pay out of his pocket. Luckily he still had quite a bit of money saved in the bank, and this was most likely a fine investment._ _

__“Do enjoy it, sir. And I hope you might be back?” The cashier asked, taking his money and placing it behind the counter._ _

__“I am sure that I will.” Michael smiled softly. “What is your name?”_ _

__“Dustin. Cropp. Of Cropp and Son.”_ _

__“Oh!” Michael laughed, “Of course, of course. Do have a good day.”_ _

__“I hope to see you again.” Dustin gave him a small wave, and Michael walked out of the shop carrying his new edition of November Boughs._ _

__As he exited the store to the musical sound of the bell attached to the door, he smiled._ _

__The sun was still high in the sky as he walked out onto the still empty streets. He began to wander again. Floating through the city. Eventually he placed his book in his bag, which felt as if it were slowly gaining weight. His shoulder began to ache, but he pressed through it, continuing to walk regardless._ _

__He found himself walking out of the slums, into the busier, larger side of town. Amongst buildings he almost remembered and tall houses that he didn’t know how people could afford. After almost an hour of walking, his feet aching and his legs burning, he found himself standing outside of Jeremy Heere’s apartment building._ _

___The book._ _ _

__Michael glanced down at his bag. Perhaps he could give it to Jeremy as a gift? Or might it be too obvious his desires if he did?_ _

__Whitman was, after all, a symbol for people like him. Maybe if Jeremy knew he might reciprocate Michael’s feelings._ _

__Michael chuckled. Never. He knew that Jeremy never would. He had accepted that._ _

__It was a lonely life to lead, and he had accepted that he would eventually find someone to marry and to bear his children. Regrettably, though, he felt so much sympathy in his heart for his future wife, for she would have nobody to love her as she did him._ _

__Maybe Jeremy was home._ _

__He thought about it, and realized that though Jeremy had randomly knocked on his door many a time, he had never done the same for his bashful and yet wealthy friend._ _

__Michael seemed to be floating through life that day. Barely remembering his movements after they had been made, and simply letting the river of his thoughts carry him down on it’s gentle current, like a leaf following the rain’s current down a flooded street after a storm._ _

__He reached the door to Jeremy’s apartment, and noticed so many things that he hadn’t his first time visiting. Though the last time had been in the middle of the night, and it had been fairly dark in the hall, now he could see so much._ _

__The light green paint on the door and the small #12 in brass. The iron door handle with a worn lock. It showed a sort of personality that only someone’s front door could._ _

__He knocked._ _

__For a moment there was no answer, and he thought that perhaps Jeremy just wasn’t home, but there was a rushed “ _I’ll be there in a moment!_ ” Which was promptly followed by the sound of rushed and heavy footsteps and the clattering of the lock from inside._ _

__The door opened, and out stepped Jeremy Heere, smile bright but not quite confident, and dressed much more casually than Michael had ever seen him._ _

__“Michael! Thank _heavens_ it’s you. I believed you to be a friend of my father’s come to talk about business. I’m making dinner. Please, come in.”_ _

__Michael chuckled as he walked through the door._ _

__“Good afternoon, my friend.” He grinned, slipping his shoes and coat off and leaving them with his bag by the coatrack._ _

__“So what brings you to my home at such an unconventional hour?” Jeremy asked, a fondness in his voice as he led the way to the kitchen. Michael sat down at a stool sitting by the kitchen counter at the opposite end of the room from the stove, where Jeremy began to busy himself rekindling the fire._ _

__“I’m not sure. I left work early and I found myself here.”_ _

__“How long ago did you leave work?”_ _

__“Some hours I think.”_ _

__Jeremy laughed, placing a pot of water onto the stove. “You’re quite an unusual man. Perhaps that is why I like you so much.”_ _

__Michael blushed, luckily out of Jeremy’s view. “I’m quite fond of you as well, Jeremy.”_ _

__“And I am glad of that. It _would_ be a shame if you weren’t, seeing as we have been friends for quite some weeks now.” Jeremy began chopping vegetables. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”_ _

__“Oh I would quite enjoy to, but I should not like to impose.”_ _

__“You’re not at all! I love to have company as I cook. Sometimes it just becomes to thought provoking and I begin to lose myself. Being alone, I mean.”_ _

__“I understand.” Michael stood up, walking to the cutting board where Jeremy stood. “Would you like any help?”_ _

__Jeremy glanced over at him, smiling. “You can chop the onions if you’d like?”_ _

__Michael nodded, taking another knife from the rack and beginning to dice onions. Jeremy's steadily moving shoulder brushing against his as they chopped the vegetables in silence for a long moment._ _

__“Have you been enjoying work, then?” Jeremy asked, after a moment. He was frowning to himself as he chopped a carrot._ _

__“Well…” _Should he be honest?_ “No. Not… Not recently.”_ _

__“Oh?” Jeremy didn’t seem surprised. “Is there… Any way I can make it better?”_ _

__“Oh no, it’s not you. It’s not the environment at all. It’s really… It’s an internal problem. I cannot find it within myself to complete my assignments sometimes, regardless of my interest in them.”_ _

__“I see.” Jeremy sighed. “Well… If there is any way I _can_ help I would happily oblige. All that I want is for you and the others to be comfortable and happy.” He chuckled, “If my father had his way, you would be working yourselves to death.”_ _

__“And why doesn’t he?” Michael asked, glancing up at Jeremy’s face for another moment._ _

__“He is in the hospital for now. I am not sure if he will ever return.”_ _

__“Is he…”_ _

__“He is dying, Michael.” Jeremy paused, biting his lip and turning to Michael. “He… I have told you before that he was not a kind man, have I not?”_ _

__Michael nodded._ _

__“I am not bothered by his death. It is to be soon, and while I surely hope him a quick and painless release to whatever afterlife he is off to, I will not miss him.” Jeremy shrugged and turned back to the cutting board, beginning to cut his carrots again._ _

__“I… I understand. I told you about my mother.”_ _

__Jeremy nodded._ _

__More silence._ _

__Michael, though, did not feel as if they had to fill it. It was comfortable, and the soft brushing of their elbows as they began to dump the soup ingredients into the now boiling pot of water, he eyed Jeremy’s soft smile and blushed. He was becoming far too affectionate, far too in love, far too soon._ _

__It was hard not to, though, with Jeremy. He was so beautiful. A sleek and elegant grace that blessed the very earth he walked._ _

__Michael could not imagine a time that he had not known Jeremy. Though he knew that they had been just a few weeks ago, he could not imagine not knowing Jeremy’s laugh. He could not imagine a world in which he could not imagine the slenderness of Jeremy’s fingers, and how they might feel against his own. He did not want to imagine a world in which he did not think of Jeremy’s hair running through his fingers, of his lips brushing against Michael’s cheek._ _

___Not here._ _ _

__“Well now, all we have to do now is wait.” Jeremy announced once they had stocked the fire and set the pot to boil._ _

____

~~~

The bright lights of the city contrasted the dark blue sky, creating a view that would blow any farm boy from Georgia off of his feet.

Michael, though, was lying on Jeremy’s couch. They had eaten dinner some hours earlier, and now Jeremy was reading.

They had been like that for quite some time. With Jeremy quietly reading aloud from the armchair beside the couch, Michael only just hanging onto his soft words as his eyelids drooped. His arms were folded beneath him, and his shoulders were cramping, but he was far too tired to change his position now. As Jeremy read on, he smiled, admiring Jeremy’s voice.

In the past few days, he had learned Jeremy by voice and by smell. He smelled of coffee and cinnamon, and sounded of comfort, and happiness.

His voice was that of someone who knew himself. It was that of someone who could _hear_ himself. He was self concious, Michael knew, of his voice, but Michael thought that he needn’t be. 

It sounded like music to Michael. Like a bell choir, or an opera, or a broadway singer. Why should it matter. It was _beautiful_ and nothing could compare. He loved the way that Jeremy’s hair hung just over his face. How his brow tilted when he read a word that he couldn’t pronounce. The way that his nose sent a shadow across his cheek in the lamplight, and the way that his eyes glinted whenever he saw Michael, as though they had shared a secret that no one else was to know about.

And though his appearance was angelic in nature, Michael could not stop thinking about _Jeremy_. He was one of the kindest and most intellectual people Michael had met in a long time. As they sat together peacefully, Jeremy reading his copy of Frankenstein aloud, Michael drifting off beside him, Michael thought that this was how he should like for it to be always. For them to sit together, and for Jeremy to read, and for Michael to listen, and for that to be enough. 

It was a simple want, but something not easily achieved. His friendship with Jeremy was already closer than most that he had had in his life. Not counting Will, and he wouldn’t count Will, he had never been romantically involved with somebody.

At that moment, lying in Jeremy’s living room, listening to Jeremy read, he thought of it: the perfect idea.

“I’m going to write a book.” He said aloud, grinning. “I’m going to do it, and I can finally put my ideas onto paper.”

Jeremy just smiled at him. “If there is anyone more qualified to write a novel, I have not met him. I’m sure it will be wonderful.”

_It will have to be wonderful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT!!!! :D NEXT CHAPTER STUFF GETS P WILD
> 
> IF YOU MAKE FANART/INSPIRED WORK PLS LET ME KNOW AT IN MY [TUMBLR ASK BOX](http://twinkjeremyheere.tumblr.com) OR PM ME ON TUMBLR ETC ETC ETC


	7. Secondhand Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is unexpectedly visited by Jeremy on a day off of work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaa!! New chapter!!!!!!
> 
> Thank you so much to Ivy for [THIS](http://twinkjeremyheere.tumblr.com/post/161715700900/hersheyheathers-twinkjeremyheere-i-know-it) amazing Christine art!!!! I absolutely love it and the dress is _exactly_ what I picture her wearing!!! :D And _also_ thank you for your AMAZING [TLC Playlist!!](https://open.spotify.com/user/awkward-american-asexual/playlist/6K0oe0A59lE9KT4NmwLGHW)
> 
> While I was procrastinating and _not_ writing this chapter I made a [Pinterest Board](https://www.pinterest.com/evie9157/the-living-city/) and a [Playlist of my own!!](https://open.spotify.com/user/auntiejeremyheere/playlist/4yfV4uqfU5Ya8AsQ0UlNiU)
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who's reading and I hope you enjoy the chapter :D

_Friday, April 29, 1892_  
_Tomorrow is my birthday. I have not told anyone yet, though, for I do not want to create a scene with my new friends. I know that they might like to celebrate with me, and I would very much like one of Brooke’s masterful pies, but I should rather not bother them with myself._

_I have been having increasing trouble at work. Less enjoyment and excitement comes with this job than did before, and I am realizing now that that is exactly what it is: a job. Not a magical or inspiring adventure in New York. I expected, when offered a position as a journalist, that I should be allowed to investigate the things which I write about. However, since beginning my job here, I have done nothing than written through other people’s notes. I have not created an original piece or an inspired piece other than the writing in this journal since arriving in New York. Jeremy has noticed my drop in mood these past weeks, as well, which adds to the stress of it all. I beg of him, do not let my emotions affect your own, but he does not listen._

_That is Jeremy, though. Endlessly compassionate and empathetic to the point of personal discomfort. It is one of is few flaws, I think, having too much sympathy for those unworthy of it. He is wonderful, though, of course, in this same right. He is able to feel and see the sides of even the most unfortunate. I admire him for that, but I do not envy him._  
_Happy Birthday to me,_  
_Michael Mell_

Michael sat back in his new home desk chair. He was sitting at his brand new desk, freshly ordered and made that very week. The shining surface was already covered in papers scribbled with paragraphs which he had written far too late into the night. At four AM that morning he had begun to formulate the plot for his novel, and after sleeping for a measly two hours, he was barely awake now.

He had been fearful for the past week of a few things. 

Firstly, Michael was afraid that he might be falling too much into love with Jeremy. He had, of course, known of his love for a long time, but had for a while thought that it was simply fleeting. It had not gone, and so he feared that perhaps it would be with him forever. A terrible fate it is, to be in love, especially in such a sinful and unapologetic manner. Michael knew that it was wrong. That _he_ was wrong. Everything he thought and felt went against God’s very will, and he absolutely hated himself for it.

Secondly, Michael had begun to write a novel, and in doing so had abandoned all interest in writing for _The World_. Now that he had found self motivation in this new place, he found that he could not create an inspired piece of any kind while working for someone else, _especially_ such a close friend as Jeremy was. To work for a friend is both amazingly wonderful and terribly awkward, in Michael’s opinion, working for Jeremy was both. 

Though amazing to not worry about losing his job, it was awful to know that he might not be properly critiqued. 

Michael groaned in contempt, standing up quickly to avoid the thoughts whirling in his head. He needed a distraction of sorts. Something to take his mind off of Jeremy, that wonderful man whom he could not begin to describe.

He had tried, of course, in his journal, and in his head, but no words seemed to be able to explain the leap in his chest and the gallop of his pulse when Jeremy was near. It simply was not fair. Not to him, and not to Jeremy, the very object of his so sinful affection.

Michael glanced about his desk, searching for something, anything to take his mind away from the so sorrowful place it had rested. 

Lying beneath a stack of papers, just out of his vision, was the book that he had bought last week. _November Boughs. Walt Whitman._ It had been there, unopened, for the week that he had owned it. Michael was afraid of it somewhat, if he was honest. Though more so afraid of meeting some acceptance of himself. Of learning that perhaps him and Whitman were not so different.

He tentatively lifted the papers with his finger, hesitant about whether or not to actually read the book beneath. The carefully pressed black letters of the binding stared up at him, and he was painfully aware of the fact that he had not yet read the _stupid book._

Michael wished then that he had opened it and read a page right there in the bookshop. Perhaps then it might not have been so intimidatingly large a task just to bend the binding open and let his eyes flit over a poem.

He picked up the book and opened to the innermost page.  
Are you the new person drawn toward me?  
To begin with, take warning, I am surely far different from what you suppose;  
Do you suppose you will find in me your ideal?  
Do you think it so easy to have me become your lover?  
Do you think the friendship of me would be unalloy’d satisfaction?  
Do you think I am trusty and faithful?  
Do you see no further than this façade, this smooth and tolerant manner of me?  
Do you suppose yourself advancing on real ground toward a real heroic man?  
Have you no thought, O dreamer, that it may be all maya, illusion?  
—Walt Whitman

Michael read and reread the poem, Jeremy brought now back to the front of his mind. _Do you suppose you will find in me your ideal?_ He closed his eyes and tossed the book back onto his desk, rubbing his eyes and ignoring the sound of his quill toppling over. He moved away from the desk, taking a slow look around the parlor. The early morning sun spilling onto the plush couch. He really should have purchased curtains, for now all of his furniture would lighten in the sun.

Michael added that to his mental list of things to do that week, ignoring the small voice in his head which refused to stop repeating lines from that _poem._

Might he ever become more to Jeremy than a friend? A lover, perhaps? Though that was beyond wishful thinking, there was a small part of him which longed to hope. 

It was then that he realized he had not yet eaten, and that it might be the foundation of both his faintness and unhappiness.

Michael wandered to the kitchen. He had not been grocery shopping in quite a few days, and he feared that he might have run out of food, or that it might have gone bad overnight. His refrigerator, while succeeding in it’s purpose usually, sometimes still allowed heat to escape. He opened one of the doors tentatively, peeking inside. There was his small jug of milk, his eggs, and a small bag of vegetables from the downtown market. Lying on it’s side was a lovely bouquet, still attached was the note from Christine. _Your place could do with some livening up, all of these were being thrown out anyways._

Michael smiled as he took them out, momentarily distracted from the task at hand. He brushed his hand over the petals, smiling at the tickle on his palm. He lay them on the counter and went on a brief search for some sort of vase to put them in. He found a tall glass in the top cabinet and proceeded to fill it with water, gently removing Christine’s note and placing the bouquet into the stand in vase.

He placed them on the kitchen windowsill and smiled. They looked lovely sitting there in the sunlight, with golden rays beaming down on them and almost bouncing off of each petal. It was a lovely window, really, and it was lucky in the city to have a window that allowed in so much sun. 

Michael took a match from his pocket and struck it on the edge of the cast iron stovetop, bringing a cigarette to his lips with somewhat shaky hands. His hands always shook in the morning, for what reason he was never quite sure. Perhaps it was the nicotine, or simply the need for coffee and food or at least a little bit more rest. 

He slowly inhaled the smoke as he walked to open the window. As he did, he was hit with a wall of humid and yet biting air. He shivered, running his hands hopelessly over his arms in an attempt to regain some sort of warmth. He failed, and instead opted to simply close the window, putting out his cigarette on the already scarred windowsill. 

Michael turned and sighed. Though he was craving a cigarette, he did not want to make the house cold, nor did he want to fog the house with smoke. 

He opted to busy himself with the cooking of eggs. After drinking what milk remained, he lit the stove and began cooking. He had only just dropped the eggs into the pan when there came a knock at the door.

Michael had no idea who it might be, for he had not any plans for that day, or even that week. He walked quickly to the door, opening it and peaking out. Just outside of his door was an uncharacteristically underdressed and disheveled Jeremy.

He was standing there in only an over shirt and trousers, shirt messily tucked and suspenders barely on his shoulders. He was grinning, and as soon as Michael opened the door he was pushing his way through the door.

“Are you… Alright? Jeremy?”

Jeremy shook his head and then nodded, though a contradiction in terms, Michael understood. Jeremy was slightly out of breath, though Michael knew naught about why he might be. Unless Jeremy had sprinted all the way there, there was no reason for him to be so flushed. He looked almost… Brash. As though he had allowed all expectations and limitations to fly out of an open train window chugging along open country tracks at top speed. It was as though he had simply… Let go.

The boldness and brashness of it was not at all like the Jeremy who he knew, but it fit strangely into his personality. This was a side of him that Michael had yet to get to know, and yet it was still so _Jeremy_ in essence that it was easy to accept.

“Are you busy right now?” Jeremy asked him, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he stood in the parlor. Rays of sunlight from the window poured down on him, creating an almost halo of gold around his messy hair.

“I’m just finishing my breakfast- uh, cooking my breakfast. Why might you ask?”

“I have to take you somewhere.”

“Where?”

“You will see when we get there. Would you like help with the cooking? Have you any coffee?”

Michael laughed, leading the way to the kitchen. The floor was warmer than it had been in the early morning, and he barely flinched when his unsocked feet touched the tile of the kitchen floor.  
“I’m not quite sure that you _need_ any coffee at this very moment, but yes.” Michael took resumed his position at the stove, stirring the eggs to make sure they had not burnt while he was gone. They had not, so he opted to grind a generous amount of pepper into the pan. “There.” He motioned towards the bottom cabinet where he kept the coffee.

Jeremy nodded, opening it and chuckling. “You buy instant?”

“It costs less, don’t laugh.”

“I’m not.” Jeremy giggled again, standing up and opening the tin. “Where’s the kettle?”

Michael pointed.

And for a few peaceful minutes, that’s how it was. They cooked, quietly existing together as the flush went out of Jeremy’s cheeks and the life emerged in Michael’s finally awake body. Though it had been hours since he had awoken, only then did he begin his day of wakefulness. 

When Michael finished his eggs, he quietly forked them onto a chipped red plate (which he had bought secondhand, though he did not care to admit) and pulled himself up onto the counter.

Jeremy looked up at him from his stance next to the stove, fixing himself his coffee, and smiled. “You’re not one for proper meals, now are you?”

“I haven’t a table.” Michael grinned, taking a bite of his breakfast. 

Jeremy closed the tin and placed the coffee filter into the sink, taking a tentative sip and flinching. “Much too hot.”

Michael laughed. 

Jeremy walked around Michael, hopping up onto the counter beside him. Their arms were affectionately close, but Michael could not find it in him to complain or scoot away, so he let it be. He ate his eggs as if Jeremy’s side was not pressed into his, as if he was not making a thousand things of this situation that were not and would never be true up in his head.

“So what prompted you to come over unannounced?” Michael asked, turning towards Jeremy and giving him a warm smile as he finished his eggs and placed his plate down beside him.

Jeremy grinned, “Well, my father decided that today he was healthy enough to run the World’s numbers from his sickbed, and so I have the day off and I decided I should very much like to share it with you.”

Michael felt a strange weightless feeling, like his stomach was rising in his chest. He could not help but smile right back at Jeremy, nudging his arm, “And why is that?”

“Because you’re quite a nice person to spend time with.” Jeremy’s eyes crinkled at the edges, Michael’s heartbeat quickened.

“Well is that not a wonderful thing to know. Shall we go, then? To wherever we might be going?”

“Of course.” Jeremy hopped off of the counter. He was slightly less spastic than he had been when Michael greeted him at the door, but there was still a careful bounce to his step that was not usually there before. An excitement. Michael wondered whatever it might be for. “I cannot tell you where we’ll be going, you’ll figure it out on the walk.”

Michael chuckled as Jeremy led the way to the door. He took a coat off of the hook by the door and as the left he slid his arms into the sleeves. “Might you give me any hints as to where we’ll be going?”

“None.”

“None at all?”

“Absolutely not.” Jeremy grinned as they began down the narrow staircase.

“Jeremy Heere-” Michael laughed, “You’re a fucking tease if there ever was one.” He adjusted the collar of his jacket and tapped Jeremy’s shoulder. “You really refuse to tell me?”

Jeremy laughed and skipped down faster, turning at the first platform and poking Michael in the arm. “You ask too many questions.”

When they made it down to Christine’s shop, she greeted them enthusiastically, removing her gloves and placing down her clippers for a moment.

“And where might you two be headed off to?” She asked, smiling. 

“‘Tis a surprise for Michael.” Jeremy grinned, glancing around. “Have you any more carnations?”

“They’re in the window.” Christine tapped his shoulder. “Have fun on whatever expedition you might have planned.”

Jeremy smiled widely, skipping quickly to pluck a green carnation from its stem and stringing it through his top buttonhole, letting it tickle his neck where it hung unfashionably.

Michael laughed and reached for Jeremy’s sleeve, tugging him gently towards the door as he fiddled more with his collar. “We must be going, then. Goodbye, Christine!” 

“Have fun, boys!” Christine waved them out and Michael was still smiling as the door slammed behind them.

Michael squinted in the sun, using his hand to shield his eyes as he began to walk beside Jeremy, matching the much more excited man’s quick pace. There was a slight annoyance in him, of course, about Jeremy not telling any detail as to their plans for the day, but there was also a curiosity. He did wonder where they might be going, what secret place Jeremy might be taking him to.

They passed by a busy grocer, people bustling about the entrance carrying bags full of produce and women pushing babies past in strollers. A group of young girls, about 8 or 9, rode past them on their bicycles with school satchels hanging off of their shoulders.

“Are they skipping out on lessons?” Michael chuckled after they were far out of earshot.

“It appears so.” Jeremy smiled, “Let them. What harm might it do?”

“Practically none, I assume. At least not in the grand scheme of their education.” Michael laughed, “That’s quite an unexpected perspective coming from such a proper man.”

“Do I appear a proper man to you, Michael?” Jeremy asked, motioning towards his mess of hair and barely tucked shirt.

Michael grinned, looking Jeremy over once and feeling a blush rise in his cheeks. “No… Not today.”

“Well then.” Jeremy leaned his shoulder into Michael’s arm, pushing him to the side. Michael nudged him off. 

They were quiet for a few moments, Michael lighting a cigarette.

“Are you excited to find what I’ve planned for us?”

“I am. Though still curious… Do you perhaps wish to tell me our destination?”

“I do _not_ wish to.” Jeremy smiled, shoving one hand into his pocket. “I should like for you to be surprised for once. We have never had an _adventure_ together.”

“Do you crave adventure, then?”

“Always.”

Jeremy nudged Michael’s wrist, nimble fingers stealing the cigarette which was balanced ever so lightly in his grasp and taking a drag himself. Michael clipped it back, smirking and bringing it to his lips. “You’re quite sneaky.” He chuckled. Closing his eyes and exhaling the smoke. He looked around. They had made their way away from downtown, and were now in a rather quiet part of town. It reminded Michael very much of the neighborhood where he had bought the Whitman book, but he did not want to think about that. 

He had been debating giving it to Jeremy as a gift, but he very much feared that it might come off as an admission of his feelings. However, he did wish to somehow repay Jeremy for all of his kindness with something other than simply his friendship.

Jeremy stopped suddenly at an intersection and glanced around. There were only a few people walking about, and one carriage crossing towing a truck of hay behind it. Jeremy turned to the left, motioning for Michael to follow him across the street.

As they walked up a small incline once reaching the other side of the road, the pier came into view. The _docks_. 

“We’re going to see the bay?” Michael asked, grinning. They had been down there before, to look out at the water.

“More than that.” Jeremy hinted. Smiling and glancing at Michael from the corner of his eye. 

“Are we…” Michael looked down at his feet for a moment, thinking, and then back up at the water. “Are you taking me out on the water?”

“You have got it now!” Jeremy grinned, tapping Michael on the shoulder and pointing down to the docks. “Do you see the small white sailboat down there?”

“Indeed.”

“That one is my family’s boat. I was planning on taking you out on the bay for the day, if you might like?”

Michael grinned, looking down at the tiny speck of a boat floating timidly in the water by the docks. “Are you pulling my leg?” He laughed, “I’ve always wanted to go sailing! And on _the New York Bay_.” He took a deep breath. “Wow.” He murmured, breathing in the salty air. He had been back to the docks only once since Jeremy had taken him a few weeks ago, but they had not been the same without him. He had found that the rush of the wind and the setting of the sun is really only as magically captivating as it was when you have a person with you who is ten times more beautiful than either.  
As they made their way down to the dock, Jeremy spoke of his family. How before his mother had run away, they had gone on outings every sunday after church. During the summer, they would always go out on the boat with sandwiches packed up in a picnic basket.

 

“She loved fishing, my mother.” Jeremy said, a bittersweet smile on his face. He was quiet for a moment. “You must not tell a soul of her. None of my friends know that I even remember her. The truth is…” He paused as they reached a small decline that led towards the beach. He navigated the rocky terrain, hopping into the sand below and then waiting for Michael to do the same. Michael almost slipped, but safely made it to the ground after using Jeremy’s shoulder as support. 

“Well the truth is I forgive her for leaving.” Jeremy sighed. “I truly do.”

Michael tilted his head in confusion, looking at Jeremy as they began to walk down the beach and towards the docks. “How could you? She… She abandoned you.” He said, brushing some dirt off of his trousers.

“I….I am not quite sure how to describe it, but I understand her.” Jeremy said softly, brushing his hair out of his eyes as the wind blew past, whipping the hair and clothes about. “I understand...Why she left. My father was not kind to her, to put it simply.” He sighed and began to slowly walk down the beach towards the docks, hands in his pockets.

“I am...I am deeply sorry.” Michael said as he caught up, squinting and looking around at the sunny bay. “My father was never….He was never a source of comfort for me, either. My mother, though she was….awful to me...At least acted as a parent should.”

“Parents are… Strange. I hope never to be one.” Jeremy chuckled.

Michael looked at him inquisitively. “Why… Why not?”

“Because I feel that I would fail my child somehow.” Jeremy answered as they made it to the dock, stopping and leaning on one of the posts for a moment. “And there is nothing worse than having a parent who has failed you.”

“That is… True, I suppose.” Michael cleared his throat as they walked down the dock, both with their eyes glued to the white sailboat. “Though… “ Michael stopped.

“Though?” Jeremy asked as they approached the boat.

“Never mind that,” Michael chuckled. “A sailboat! Do you know how to sail, then?”

“Of course I know how to sail.” Jeremy laughed. Michael admired the laugh, it still sounded as music did to his ears. With the wind blowing and the sound of small waves gently lapping against the sandy bay shore, it was somehow even more beautiful than normal.

In this light, under direct sun in the midday, Jeremy looked like a god might. As he stepped out onto the boat, beginning to untie it from it’s post and let the sails out. As it began to slowly inch away from the dock, Jeremy turned back to look at Michael. 

“Well don’t just stand there!” Jeremy reached his hand out for Michael to take. “Come on!”

And so Michael took his hand, cautiously stepping onto the boat (putting almost all of his weight on Jeremy to keep his balance) and sitting down. From his place at the end of the boat, he could look out and see the entire bay. It was somehow a better view than from the dock or from the shore, and he sat so mesmerized that he almost did not notice as the boat began to slowly float further and further from the sand. 

They were a good twenty yards from the dock when he noticed, and he almost yelled for shock. Jeremy laughed. 

“Do not be afraid! You’re in good hands.”

“I am not sure of that.” Michael forced a laugh, gripping his seat anxiously. He did like sailing, he found it quite relaxing, but he had not been out on the water in some time and it seemed that a lot of fear had developed since he had.

Jeremey moved to sit across from him, their knees brushing as the boat floated smoothly out across the water on its own, prompted by the wind in its sails. He placed a hand on Michael’s knee. “You’re perfectly alright, see?” He pointed at the shore, and then at the water. “What is the worst that can happen?”

Michael shook his head, taking a deep breath of salty sea air. “I am not sure.”

Jeremy touched his shoulder, “Look into my eyes?”

Michael looked up, meeting Jeremy’s eyes. They were a bright crystal blue, and he was amazed that he had not noticed them before.

“I promise,” Jeremy began, “That no harm will come of you.”

Michael smiled, breath still shakey but much less nervous than he had been before. His eyes darted momentarily to Jeremy’s lips when he noticed how close they were. Jeremy smiled and sat back, pointing towards the shore opposite them. 

“That is where I grew up.” He said, pointing at a barely visible blue dot. “That house.”

Michael grinned with excitement, “Will you take me there some time?”

Jeremy glanced down at the water, leaning over to drag his hand through it, watching the waves pass over his wrist before answering. “Maybe.”

There was silence for a moment, except for the wind and the water. Michael leaned back in the boat, tilting his head up and looking up at the partially clouded sky. 

“I know almost nothing good of your childhood. Tell me something.” Jeremy said, leaning his elbow on the edge of the boat and squinting up at Michael.

Michael sat up, hunching over and leaning his elbows on his thighs. He smiled, thinking of what memory he might tell.

“When I was…When I was a very little boy, far before I had any idea what I wanted to do with my life, my grandfather took me into the city. I had lived in the country my entire life, of course, and so going to a city was… Incredible. We went to a circus and there was a stuntman there. He escaped these massive chains and it was…” Michael smiled. “Absolutely the most spectacular experience of my entire life to that point. He was an amazing man, my grandfather.”

“He sounds marvelous.” Jeremy said dreamily, eyes closed. His arm was dangling over the edge of the boat, fingers trailing in the water as they sailed. “My grandfather is a complete church bell.” He let out a small, quiet laugh. 

Michael chuckled nervously, afraid to offend. “And what makes him so.”

“He is a complete idiot who has never had an original thought in his life. Why do you _think_ he founded a newspaper.” 

Michael widened his eyes, looking at Jeremy, shocked at his honesty. 

There was silence for a while before Jeremy sat up, wiping his hand on his trousers and carefully standing up. The boat rocked and Michael’s heart leapt in his chest, he clung back to the edge of the boat as Jeremy walked slowly to loosen the sail, steering the boat farther from the shore. 

Michael turned his head to face the wind, attempting to make clear his vision so that he could look down into the water and see if there were any fish. He could not make any out in the murky depths.

When Jeremy had finished with whatever it was that he had been doing with the ropes, he sat back down across from Michael. For a moment he was leaning at an awkward, somewhat distorted angle as to reach his hand down into his pocket, but soon enough he was sitting with a cigarette in between his fingers and a match in his palm.

“Care to light it?” Jeremy asked, offering the match to Michael as he brought the cigarette to his lips. Michael chuckled.

“On a wooden boat? Perhaps not your wisest choice, Jeremy.” But he took the match and struck it regardless, leaning closer to Jeremy’s face than he had ever been before to light it he tossed the match into the water as soon as it was lit, and smiled.

The corners of Jeremy’s eyes crinkled when he smiled, ever so slightly. Michael was close enough now to see every detail of his complexion. His cheeks were covered in light freckles, which barely appeared under the bright midday sun.

Jeremy took the cigarette from his lips, coughing in the smoke. He offered it to Michael.

Michael took a slow drag and looked out at the lake. From where they were now, they could see the ocean. It was a fuzzy blur, but they could see it. 

For a long time they sat that way, peacefully, with their knees brushing together and with a cigarette passing quietly between them.

Eventually Jeremy stood up, sitting down beside Michael on his bench and sighing, looking around them.

Michael passed him the almost-burnt out cigarette with a smile, and Jeremy leaned over as he took it, resting his head lazily on Michael’s shoulder.

His stomach jumped, butterflies emerging. He remained still, though Jeremy’s hair was gently tickling his neck, and the smoke from his lips was drifting up in ribbons of gray, and their thighs were pressed together, he remained still. 

He had to pretend that it didn’t matter, that it did not mean what he wanted it to mean. For if his hopes grew too high, he might just break his own heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh boy have we got a wild ride coming. Thank you so much for reading and look forward to the next chapter ;0


	8. Only You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe hosts an annual dinner party for her friends. This year, Michael is invited!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY EVERYONE!!
> 
> sorry for the long wait, my summer has been a little hectic, and I'm not even home rn I'm visiting my grandparents in Delaware. So I'm sorry that this chapter took like a month to finish but...Here you go :D 
> 
> Additionally, there is now a TLC Discord which you can find [Here!!!](https://discord.gg/p9wDyqb) for if you want quick sneak peaks as i'm writing, to talk about TLC/make headcanons or discuss theories, and just...generally talk about it!!
> 
> Follow [my tumblr](twinkjeremyheere.tumblr.com) for other content of mine (mostly shitposts at this point tbh) and also additional TLC stuff annnddd....that's it!! enjoy the chapter!!!! <3

_Sunday, May 1, 1892_  
_On today, the day of the sabbath, I feel myself slipping farther than ever from the Lord’s good grace. After once again finding myself awoken from a compromising dream involving Jeremy Heere, I think myself completely unworthy now of anything I had been promised in repenting. I have fallen back into a cycle of sinful thoughts which might soon be followed by sinful actions if I am not careful. I dearly wish that I do not make a mistake, for one slip might cost my friendship with Jeremy altogether. ___

_Additionally, though I wrote of lack of celebration yesterday, the day of my birth might have been mentioned when Jeremy and I were talking yesterday, thus he has promised that he will celebrate it with me somehow this week. His sweetness only compels my affection._

_I am worried for my sanity, dear diary, if I am to keep these secrets within me for much longer._  
_Yours,_  
_Michael Mell_

__There was a tapping at his door as he finished signing his name, surprising him. Michael’s hand slipped slightly, dropping a small splash of ink onto the page. He groaned, tossing his quill aside as the ink blotched. The knock came again, louder this time, and he stood up, almost knocking his brand new desk chair to the ground as he walked quickly to the door. He promptly unlatched the latch and opened it, not expecting anyone in particular, and _certainly_ not expecting Christine._ _

__Which, was perhaps quite stupid, she did work right below him and own his apartment._ _

__She grinned as he opened the door, her flowing dress of choice that day was green and silken, with a blue sash and an intricate knot, certainly not dressed up, but not dressed down either._ _

__“Michael!” She grinned, “I’m so glad you are home!”_ _

__Michael smiled back, blinking a few times before shaking his head, “Would you like to come in?”_ _

__“Oh, of course, of course!” Christine curtseyed, walking in tentatively and glancing around the parlour. “I do enjoy how you’ve furnished it.” She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling and making him unable to smother his smile in return. Her smile was among the more contagious of the people he knew._ _

__“Well I am glad of that.” Michael stated truthfully, latching the door behind her and nodding towards the parlour. “Take a seat, I’ll prepare some tea and we can talk?”_ _

__“That sounds lovely.” Christine smiled, walking to the couch and picking up the newspaper that lay on the side table (yesterday’s Evening World, featuring Michael’s coverage of an uptown murder on the front page.) Michael hurried to the kitchen, busying himself with water and the kettle and locating two teabags. He found that he only had mint teas, which was perfectly alright. He found a matchbox in the holder beside the stove and struck it against the iron kettle, lighting the gas, and setting the kettle on to boil._ _

__Michael leaned out of the kitchen door, glancing at Christine who was passively sitting, legs crossed, reading his article._ _

__“Will mint tea be alright?” He asked her, tapping the doorframe momentarily as she replied._ _

__“Yes! Mint sounds wonderful.” She smiled, eyes still on the article, “Thank you kindly, Michael.”_ _

__“Of course.” He smiled back and retreated into the kitchen, watching for a few minutes as the kettle began a low humming whistle._ _

__When the water had boiled and two mugs of tea had been poured, he walked back to the parlour where Christine had made it to the ad section. She was looking intently at an advertisement for fine coffee._ _

__“This was quite an interesting edition.” She said as he set down the tea on his small coffee table and sat down beside her on the loveseat. “Front page murder, was that your writing?”_ _

__“It was.” Michael smiled again, “How could you tell?”_ _

__“It’s written exactly the way that you speak.” She smirked, tucking a stray hair behind her ear and clearing her throat. “Ah, yes!” Christine seemed to remember something. “My reason for visiting was not only for your wonderful company, but to ask if you might like to come to Chloe’s annual May Day dinner party this evening.”_ _

__“Truly? You should like me to come?”_ _

__“Oh yes of course! It’s a wonderful event. Fancy dressing and laughter and if we’re lucky enough she opens a bottle of fine champagne.” She smiled, picking up her cup of tea and blowing away the steam._ _

__“It sounds lovely. Who will be attending?” Michael asked, leaning back on the couch and resting his wrist over the arm. He was tired and only slightly dozing, he needed to stay wakeful._ _

__“Only our closest friends, ‘tis usually only the seven of us but since you’ve grown so close to Jeremy and I we thought it only proper to invite you this year.”_ _

__Michael grinned, a group of friends whom he might call his own! He had only ever dreamed of it._ _

__“I would love to come. Will the suit that I wore to the ball be fancy enough?”_ _

__“Oh yes it should be. One of Jenna’s, correct?”_ _

__“Yes, Jeremy brought me to have it fitted before the ball.”_ _

__“She will be at the party, I’m sure she’ll enjoy seeing one of her pieces being worn.” Christine tossed the newspaper onto the coffee table and shook her head. “How have you enjoyed work, Michael?”_ _

__“Not as well as I thought that I might when I first got the job, I must admit.” Michael sighed, taking a sip of his tea and flinching at the heat. His tongue went numb as it burned, and he stifled a groan of annoyance at it._ _

__“Why not?”_ _

__“It….Well it simply is not as great an adventure as I had hoped.” He sighed. “Reading Nellie’s wonderful accounts of exposes and circumnavigating the world… It made me hopeful that I might find some greater purpose in this work.”_ _

__Christine nodded, sipping her tea and crossing one leg over the other. “Well perhaps… You might give it time? I suppose you might be assigned greater jobs in the future, you have only just started.”_ _

__Michael nodded, tilting his head. “‘Tis just… My need to write for _myself_ before anyone else that blocks my path to greater success.”_ _

__“I see, well.” Christine set down her mug, placing a hand on his knee. “Live the life that you wish to live, that makes you the happiest. That is the only way to lead a life that, when you have died, you are full and satisfied with.”_ _

__Michael paused for a few moments, thinking about what she had said. “Well…” He began, “I suppose that’s true. I mean, a full life is only what you make for yourself.”_ _

__“Exactly.”_ _

__“Thank you, Christine.” He smiled at her as she set down her tea and stood up._ _

__“Of course, any time. I do enjoy your company but I must get going. I’m going down to Jenna’s for a fitting but I’ll be back with Jeremy in good time to bring you to the party, yes?”_ _

__“Yes of course, I will be staying in today, so I should be here whenever you arrive.”_ _

__Christine nodded, smiling at him and then bidding him goodbye. As the door closed behind her, Michael sat back on the couch, leaning his head against the wall. She was right, he knew. He needed to make this life his own, that was exactly the reason he had come to New York in the first place. To create a life which he wanted to live._ _

__He did want to leave his job, but not quite yet. He needed to write a book first._ _

__Michael stood up from his place on the couch, looking around at the bright parlour. Though it was only barely eleven, the light was streaming across the walls. Perhaps if he purchased one of those glass prisms from the market, they would project rainbows onto the walls as the ones on his childhood mobile had._ _

__He smiled, thinking of those days as a child taking his naps, laying down and looking at the rainbows scattered across the ceiling like giant painted stars in the day time. The days before mother was cruel. Or, perhaps, it was simply before he _knew_ that she was cruel. Deep down, he knew that she always had been, but he did not want to admit to himself at that moment that this was true._ _

__Instead, Michael found himself walking to his desk, picking up the book of poetry that he had tossed down in dismissal and running his fingers over the pages, not opening it. He did not know if he was ready to open it again, but the brush of the paper on his thumb was calming somehow, and so he continued, only thinking. Not about Jeremy, though, for imagining Jeremy always brought thoughts much too awful for the light of day, or even for the dark of night._ _

__He knew that he needed to prepare himself for the dinner party, and so he retreated to the bedroom, book still in hand. He tossed it onto his unmade bed, making a vow to neaten the rumpled sheets as soon as he had laid out his clothes for that night._ _

__Once Michael had found all of the elements of his outfit, he laid them on top of his dresser and began making his bed. As he worked, he whistled to the tune of America, America, and thought about Jeremy._ _

__That day out on the boat._ _

__Jeremy had gotten horribly sunburnt, but in those moments, with his head resting gently on Michael’s shoulder, and the gentle smokey coils floating up around them, Michael had felt so peaceful._ _

__He had come to a rest, with Jeremy’s hair tickling his neck, and his eyes gently fluttering open and closed. The beautiful view out across the bay had helped to ground him, keep him focused. Jeremy was his friend, they were out sailing together._ _

__He remembered the boat ride fondly, it was a nice memory, but his heart ached. If only he did not feel as he did about Jeremy, then he might be able to enjoy his company a little bit more._ _

__When Michael finished making his bed, he folded his clothes for that night on top of it, laying them on the pillow and sighing as he rubbed his eyes. He tapped his feet on the cold wooden floor, hopping from foot to foot. What was there to occupy his wandering mind today? Until the party...There was hardly anything._ _

__Michael settled on rereading Ten Days in a Madhouse. Flipping anxiously through the pages, though the anxiety seemed to be coming from nowhere, he knew that it was from the small part of his brain that was considering the unthinkable._ _

_Confessing._

__Telling Jeremy what he was. Telling Jeremy how he felt. He knew that it would not end the way that he wished for it to end, but at least there would be some rest in knowing absolutely without a doubt exactly what Jeremy thought of him._ _

__He settled on a chapter to begin at, and sat down on his couch, lounging as he began to read._ _

__The words took him away from his conflict, and for the first time in weeks he was able to settle his mind. Michael, for a moment, forgot completely about Jeremy Heere and his beautiful eyes and the way that his hair settled just above his eyebrows._ _

__He lost himself in the book, and before he knew it an hour had passed. Michael’s growing headache was pulsing at his temple and the book was lying open (almost finished) on the pillow beside him._ _

__Michael was exhausted, he had to admit. Why he was not sure, but he needed to energize himself before the party that night. He checked his watch. It was already three o’clock._ _

__For the rest of the afternoon, he busied himself with midlness tasks. He cleaned the parlor and swept the kitchen, washed the dishes, boiled some eggs for the next day, and made a pot of tea. By the time he had gotten dressed in his outfit for that night, he was sipping his tea on the couch and simply waiting for the knock at the door that meant that it was time to leave._ _

__When it came, he pocketed a dollar for spending money (not that he needed it after all) and opened the door to see both Jeremy and Christine’s flushed but excited faces._ _

__“Are you ready to leave?” Christine asked, glancing down and adjusting her dinner dress’ sash._ _

__“Indeed.” He grinned. They had become the best friends he had ever had, and here now, he was being accepted into their group, their real lives._ _

__They headed single file down the creaking narrow stairs, and as they walked out of the florist’s shop, Christine flipped the closed sign and locked the door, glancing down the street before shoving the keys into the front of her corset. Michael laughed, she grinned at him and shrugged, motioning towards the carriage._ _

__“Are you excited, Michael?” Jeremy asked as they situated themselves inside. With Christine and Michael on one side and Jeremy on the other._ _

__The carriage began to move, bumping over the cobbled city roads, wheels kicking up dust._ _

__“I am not quite sure what to expect. It is a formal affair, yes?”_ _

__“Oh yes.” Christine butted in. “Every year, Chloe and Brooke host it. It’s a large dinner party with a large meal and after we eat they set up a phonograph on the porch and we dance in the backyard until our feet hurt. After that we sit on the back porch and talk. It’s all very scheduled and very nice, I’m sure you will enjoy it.”_ _

__Jeremy folded his hands in his lap. “Precisely.” He glanced out the window of the closed carriage, pointing out at the view of the bay and glancing at Michael. “It’s beautiful this time of day, is it not?”_ _

__Michael hummed in agreement, attempting to stop his blush, remembering the boat ride. Feeling Jeremy’s hair on his neck, his smoke and his scent in his nose, all of it._ _

__“It’s wonderful.” Christine said, smiling and brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “I have been wondering what food will be served this year. They make a different cuisine each time. I am hoping for Italian this year.”_ _

__“Italian sounds phenomenal.” Michael smiled. In tall truthfulness, he would not care what kind of food it was, only that he was finally in a place where he belonged._ _

__Well…. _Almost_ belonged. _ _

__There was always the simple fact that in his mind, he never would._ _

__They rode over a bump in the street, and the almost chilly spring air swept through the open carriage window._ _

__“Oh!” Christine exclaimed, “I had completely forgotten. Brooke and Chloe’s cat has recently given birth! The little kittens are all so cute.”_ _

__“I have always loved cats…” Michael smiled at the thought of small kittens, mewling with squinted eyes and small paws._ _

__“Perhaps you could take one of them off of their hands? They have been looking for new owners.”_ _

__Michael grinned at Jeremy and then at Christine. Her skin, almost pale from the winter, glowed in the half sunlight coming dappled through the carriage window. She was a beautiful woman. He was surprised that no one had yet courted her. He should ask her sometime, when they were not in the company of others, of course._ _

__Though she and Jeremy were quite close friends, and he doubted that he did not know her situation, it was still impolite._ _

__He wondered if perhaps _Jeremy_ was courting her. The thought made his stomach uneasy, and a strange dread came over him. He did not wish anything for Jeremy but happiness, even if his own love was compromised in the process (it was not as if he had not expected for Jeremy to be married someday, but he still did not like to think about it.) so Michael pushed the idea away, instead turning back to Christine. “If the kittens are quite old enough to be separated from their mother, perhaps I will consider it.”_ _

__Christine smiled, pleased. “I thought that you might want one. They are still very small, but old enough to leave. You will need to hand feed it still… Chloe will be able to provide you food for it though.”_ _

__He grinned, Jeremy was looking at him. Michael tried not to look back, but his curiosity won him over. He met Jeremy’s intense stare, half smiling and nodding slightly in his direction. Jeremy’s eyes darted away, as though he had not wanted to be caught staring._ _

__Michael knew better, of course, Jeremy had probably simply been dozing off, staring absently._ _

__The carriage came to a stop suddenly, and he glanced out of the window. They were right outside Brooke and Chloe’s luxurious townhouse. They stepped out, Christine careful not to get dust on her dress, and walked towards the white fence outside. Michael spotted Rich and Jake milling about outside, and the open windows and doors allowed the sound of a phonograph playing slow and yet happy-sounding piano music from just inside the house could be heard._ _

__The garden outside was now in full bloom, and the patio to the side of the house had been fully decorated, with metal outdoor chairs and a long clothed table set for eight. The pathway towards the backyard had been lit with candles, and as they walked through the gate (christine leading the way) he noticed Jenna walking towards them from the back._ _

__Rich and Jake both looked up at them at almost the exact same time, both smiling and waving. Rich jogged into the house quickly, most likely searching for Chloe, as she was the host. A few moments later, Chloe was walking quickly out of the door, still wiping her hands on a towel, obviously flustered but still very happy._ _

__“I am so glad you all could make it!” She smiled at Michael, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Especially you, the newest addition to our little group.”_ _

__

__Michael grinned back at her. She was a kind woman, he could tell, but the glint in her eyes showed mischief as well._ _

__“Well, let us head inside. Jenna?” She called over her shoulder, catching the attention of the woman wandering about the yard. Michael had not talked to her much, but he appreciated that she had sewn him such a nice suit on such short notice before the ball, and though he did not know much of her, he could tell that they would get along._ _

__Jenna followed them quietly inside, which Michael could tell already was unlike her, the silence, that is. There as a long pause in the conversation as they made their way inside. As they walked through the door, the hot interior of the house hit him like a wall, but the unpleasant humidity was dampened by the _amazing_ smell coming from the kitchen. _ _

__“What is it that you’re cooking?” Jeremy asked, Michael glanced to him. His eyes were closed as he inhaled again, a blissful look gracing his features._ _

__“I just put the peach crumble in to bake.” Chloe smiled warmly, turning around to look up the stairs. “Brooke?” She called, there was a fumbling from the top of the stairs, and Brooke was prancing down the stairs. She was wearing a large yellow ball gown adorned with tiny metal ornaments. As he looked closer, he found that they were tiny flowers. Tiny roses, in fact, painted delicately pink and gold, hanging gracefully from her neckline and from the skirt of her dress. The silken fabric around her waist bunched up, and she was wearing matching silver and gold earrings to compliment it. Michael could quite honestly say that it was the most wonderful dress he had ever seen._ _

__“You look…” Michael chuckled under his breath. “Your dress is exquisite.”_ _

__Brooke smiled, curtseying and giving them all a spin so that they might see the back. “Jenna made it...Of course. She is a master of her craft.”_ _

__Michael glanced at Jenna, amazed. This dress looked like nothing that had been found in her shop. This looked as though it should be worn by only the richest of celebrities, or the most high fashion people._ _

__He watched Chloe stare at her as she came down the stairs, a glint in her eye and a wide, genuine smile on her face._ _

___Blazes, if someone might look at me with those eyes…_ He could see the love and affection in her gaze, it was as though she were looking at a husband...Or a child….Or, in this case, a friend._ _

____

~~~

After the awkward first pleasantries, they retired to the parlour as Chloe finished cooking; that is, until the meal was finished and they were all called outside. They walked together, talking and giggling over nothing, with Brooke’s fine wine glasses in hand, not yet tipsy but definitely feeling the alcohol’s effect.

Michael sat down at the seat marked with a small place card with his name on it, consequently, his seat was right beside Jeremy’s, and he smiled fondly as Jeremy sat down. The phonograph began again, the static silence before the record began to play silencing the conversation. As a slow, quiet piano acompaniment began, Jeremy swayed with his glass of wine.

Michael smiled, “I did not know you were a musical man.”

“Well.. I am not...Quite. I just enjoy the tunes.” He smiled, picking up his place card and folding it carefully, tucking it into his breast pocket. _Jeremy Heere, 1892_. Michael looked at his own. It was simply a paper which had been embossed with his name and the year. He was not sure why Jeremy was keeping his.

“Why did you do that?” Michael asked, motioning towards Jeremy’s pocket. “Why keep it?”

Jeremy smiled and raised his glass to the table. “To our tenth year of friendship, and to our newest addition to the group, Michael Mell.” Everyone laughed and clapped and drank, and soon enough Chloe and Brooke were carrying out the lasagna, and sauce, and homemade bread. Michael breathed it in, the salty sweet smell of the sauce and the rich smell of the bread, all of it. 

“This smells _amazing_ , Chloe.” Jake smiled, looking down the table from his end. “I’m stunned.”

Chloe grinned as she set down the serving dishes and sat down at one head of the table, motioning for Brooke to sit at the other end. Everyone smiled, unanimously taking hands. Michael took Chloe and Jeremy’s hands, closing his eyes, expecting for them to say grace. Instead, Chloe raised her voice.

“Thank you, to our dearest and most loyal friend, _Walt Whitman._ For bringing us together, and for gifting us with the most undeserving honor, to be ourselves among friends.”

~~~

Following dinner had been a wonderful little dance, they had jigged in the backyard to their heart’s content, everyone trading partners. Michael had even danced with _Jeremy_ for a short time. They had both tripped over themselves a few times, but it had been great fun, much laughing and enjoying themselves.

Now, though, only he and Jeremy were left with Chloe and Brooke. They were helping do some of the cleaning up, and chatting about almost nothing as they worked. When all of the washing had been finished, and all that was left to do was a few dishes and the folding up of the outdoor table, Jeremy and Michael left. 

They walked down the darkened city streets, Michael only looking over at Jeremy’s cheeks when they passed by lamp posts that did wonders to somehow accentuate his natural features. 

“Would you like to stay over at my apartment tonight?” Jeremy asked, nodding across the street. Michael noticed where they were. The bar just beside Jeremy’s place was alight, with people bustling about, walking around the square and in and out of the establishment. 

“Oh! Well… I mean I suppose it couldn’t hurt. I do not want to walk all the way back to my house in the dark, and it _is_ quite late…”

Jeremy smiled. “You are welcome anytime. We’ll open a bottle of brandy...Sit and talk for a while?”

Michael grinned at him, looking at Jeremy’s messy hair and goofy smile. “That sounds amazing.”

They walked into the apartment with as much grace as they could muster, shuffling out of coats and shoes and walking along the cold tiled floor of the entryway.

Michael sat down on the couch as Jeremy walked to a cabinet, opening a bottle of brandy and fetching two glasses from the kitchen. When he came back, he sat down on the couch beside Michael, who was sitting mesmerized by the view from his window.

Jeremy smiled, and Michael leaned into him so that their legs touched just barely, because right now, that would be enough. 

Jeremy smiled at him, eyes half closed, the suspenders that he had loosened now hanging at his thighs. He poured the brandy rather generously into the two glasses, and took a timid sip of his own as he handed one glass to Michael. Michael sipped it, flinched at the flavor, and set it down on the coffee table next to the bottle.

They leaned back into the couch, Jeremy resting his feet on the coffee table, Michael crossing his legs. They were silent, for a time, and it was a comforting silence. Until Jeremy asked him a question, and he was not quite sure how to respond.

“How many lovers have you had in the past?”

Michael was quiet for a minute, unsure of how to answer. “Only one.”

“Tell me, did you love her?”

Michael chuckled…”Tis a long story, my friend.”

Jeremy motioned to the window. “We have all the time in the world. As the world sleeps, we drink. We talk.”

“It was….Complicated.” He said, “He didn’t- didn’t love me an awful lot I don’t think.”

“He?”

 _Fuck._ “I-” But Jeremy cut him off.

“So...it was a man, then?” Jeremy said, not accusing, but thoughtful, quiet. He smirked, looking down at his drink. “I should not be surprised.”

“I-”

“Have you ever…. Have you ever loved someone?” Jeremy asked him, meeting his eyes in the dark. Their shoulders were dangerously close, legs pressed against one another. The flutter in Michael’s stomach could not be squashed as Jeremy leaned closer, tentatively reaching a hand up to brush a stray hair out of Michael’s eyes. _God this was too much._

“Only you.” Michael breathed, Jeremy’s lips were barely brushing his cheek now, his heavy but hesitant breath on his neck.

“May I?” Jeremy brought a hand up to cup Michael’s face, Michael leaned into the contact, butterflies forming again, heart rate jumping. He nodded, finally giving in.

Their lips met, and at first he did not know what to do. Completely frozen with shock, despite having seen it coming, he sat, with Jeremy leaning over him, thumbs brushing over his cheek. But slowly, he leaned in, hands moving to Jeremy’s hips and they were _kissing._

_Blazes._

Michael had thought far too much of this moment, and now that it was all real. His world felt as though it were crashing around him, he was sinking into the couch as Jeremy pushed him back, and his eyelids fluttered as he smiled into Jeremy’s lips.

All of it.

His entire life, turned upside by this boy whom he had fallen in love with by chance, whom he had met by chance, and who was his one and only chance of a life away from his family.

And this was happening.

This was nothing like what it had been like to kiss Will… Will had been forceful and domineering, cold, pushing. This was only soft, and warm, and Jeremy tasted of brandy and something sweet... He smelled of vanilla, as he always did, but his clothes were smoky from the cigarettes, and Michael was so fully and deeply devoted to him that he could feel it in his very soul. A tug...A yearning.

They were kissing, and Jeremy’s hand was in his hair, and he was giggling, and they were… Happy? Both of them. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps this was what Jeremy had wanted all along.

Michael laughed, “You never told me you were a hopeless romantic.” He smirked, draping an arm over the back of Jeremy’s neck and pulling him down for another kiss. 

Jeremy kissed his lips, and then his cheek, and then his neck before replying. “You never asked.” He smiled, and nuzzled his head into Michael’s shirt, closing his eyes. Slowly, they both drifted off to sleep, both still sitting on the couch, the first crack of dawn beginning to shine through the large living room window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact, i wrote the kiss scene before i had even written any of the fic. my favorite lines, which were the ones which inspired me to write this fic in the first place (when i thought of them i think i almost cried with inspiration) were "have you ever loved anybody?" "only you"
> 
> the original lines were "have you ever fallen in love" and "only with you" but there was LOTS of editing to be done with my first drafts of this fic. thank you SO MUCH for reading and thank you for your continuous support!!!! if you wanna talk more about tlc, join the discord, and i appreciate comments VERY VERY MUCH!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments really help me know what I've done right!!!! (Also they make updates come a little bit faster)


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